Chapter 36 Maddox
MADDOX
My natural reaction is to start driving below the speed limit.
The two individuals who created me chose to call an emergency family meeting after what I can only assume was a result of last night’s revelations between Reyna and the man who trained me.
While I would much rather be in Reyna’s presence this evening, a bandage needs ripping off, and I plan to do the removal while the wound hasn’t closed.
Twenty-five minutes later, the valet takes my keys when I pull up to the apartment building I had the misfortune of calling home for several years.
The filthy-rich citizens of New York occupy this street; from tech moguls to real estate tycoons, and now a businessman who may lose his seat in the Order.
The elevator climbs up until I’m on the top floor, where the family dining room is. Maria, the live-in maid and Spencer’s old nanny, greets me as soon as the door opens.
It’s 8:04 on the dot.
“Maddox,” she beams. “I should warn you, he’s mad you’re late.”
I shrug. “He’ll get over it.”
“Come, come,” she urges, ushering me to the dining room as I slip a hundred-dollar bill into her hand. She shakes her head even though her eyes shine with gratitude.
The place looks as one might expect for the home of an old man in finance and politics who lacks any personality and keeps questionable tax records. A sculpture here, a war painting there, cream paneled wallpaper, crystal chandeliers, and antique mahogany furniture to match the wooden floors.
The scars on my back twinge with phantom pain as Maria walks into the dining room first. “Sir, Mr. Maddox is here.”
A very upset-looking sperm donor sits at the head of the table, flanked by Spencer on one side and the woman who birthed us on the other. She scowls at me while Spencer shoots a nod my way before continuing to eat like the temperature didn’t plummet to the negatives.
No matter, the doors to hell will open soon enough and heat this place right up.
“You’re late,” Roland says, slicing into his steak.
“That’s because I didn’t want to be here.”
Maria shoots me a warning look while Roland says nothing. She pulls out my seat for me at the opposite end of the table—our usual show in front of the good and holy high saint.
“If I ask you to be here by seven thirty, then you are expected to be here by seven thirty.” If I weren’t so far away from him, I’d be concerned about his white-knuckle grip on the knife.
Maria fills my glass with sparkling water—which my sperm donor knows I despise as much as coffee. She offers to dish my plate, but I shake my head.
“No need. I don’t plan on staying.” I take the glass and look him dead in the eyes as I drink the disgusting liquid without flinching.
Maria must read the room because she makes herself scarce. I cut a glance to Mother, who says nothing, staring at her food. She hardly ever speaks in front of Roland at the dinner table, unless it’s to take his side.
“I’ve summoned—”
He stops when a laugh rumbles out of me. I clear my throat, holding my hand up. “My apologies. Please continue about how you have summoned me.”
Roland tightens his grip around his utensils, an arrogant gleam crossing his eyes. “We’ve decided to move up your wedding date to a month from now.”
“Have you now?” I cock a brow.
“Yes. Annabel will arrange for the details to be sent to you,” he says, spearing an asparagus without sparing a glance at Mother.
I swirl my glass, watching the disgusting clear liquid bubble. “Why the urgency?”
“Daniel is gaining more favor amongst the acolytes. The Dornmonts and I believe it is in the Order’s best interest to do whatever possible to ensure he isn’t elected.” His eyes never meet mine.
“Right.” I tap my glass against the table. “So this has nothing to do with your latest murder attempt?”
I see the exact moment the two words sound alarms in his head: He knows.
Oh yes, Father. I know.
His only tell is the briefest falter in his movements as he cuts into his steak.
Spencer’s cutlery clatters onto his plate. “Murder? What murder?” He glances between us.
“Stop by my office tomorrow. We need to talk,” I tell him. It’s not a discussion we should have with either of our parents in the room.
Spencer narrows his eyes at me. We’ve never touched on such topics in front of him before.
“Murders happen all the time,” Roland says noncommittally. “Am I expected to keep up with who dies?”
We stare at each other, waiting to see who will break first.
It was a gamble throwing the accusation out. It’s not like Shepherd and I are texting buddies, but I figured that if he were half the man I think he is, he’d want to remedy last night’s incident as quickly as possible—to keep his daughter safe and get his high saint back in line.
An acolyte had to kill another acolyte, after all. That doesn’t happen every day.
“I suppose not.” I shrug, taking another sip. “Alas, I thought it would be best that you heard it from me: I’ve spoken to Abi, and we’re calling off the engagement.”
In fact, I spoke to her just before coming here.
Mother gasps, and Roland slams his hand on the table. It’s rather liberating to see the vein in his forehead pulse. It doesn’t age him well.
“I don’t know what paint you’ve been sniffing, son, but one month from now, you are marrying that girl. Should you change your mind, our arrangement will end.” The tendons in his neck throb.
“Can someone explain what’s going on?” Spencer insists, flicking his gaze between the three of us.
“Tomorrow,” I promise before responding to Roland. “Then consider this a renegotiation of our arrangement. The wedding is off, and I will no longer be ordered around. Additionally, Spencer can choose what level of involvement he wishes to have with you and the Order.”
Roland points the steak knife at me. “You’re sorely mistaken if you think for one second that you have any authority over what goes on in my house.”
“I never claimed to have authority. However, it would be most unfortunate if the acolytes discovered that the engagement was a farce coordinated by their high saint all along.”
Fuck, it’s hard not to grin.
“Are you threatening me?”
I smile because bloody hell this feels good. “You don’t have to do anything you aren’t comfortable with,” I say to Spencer. “Roland will respect your decision.”
“He’s my son. He’ll do as I say.” Roland’s voice is low and lethal.
I might be frightened if I weren’t the killer in our family.
“I have on good authority that two attempts were made on the life of the woman under the grand magistrate’s protection.
” I murdered the first person to harm Reyna.
From this day forward, I’ll murder anyone else who tries again.
“I believe Shepherd’s only spoken to you about the one from yesterday.
It would be a shame if he were to discover that one of Wilson Shaw’s clients made another attempt on her life. ”
“There was no second hit.” He glares.
I tip my head to the side. “Wasn’t there? I saw it happen myself.”
The man who attacked Reyna at Paddy’s house was nothing more than a thug doing his boss’s dirty work. It was just a fortunate turn of events that I discovered the aforesaid boss is a client of Wilson Shaw.
“If you ask me, that’s not a transgression I’d imagine the grand magistrate would take lightly. Once is bad. Twice?” I shake my head, blowing out a whistle.
“He’ll never believe your baseless claim.” The vein in his forehead looks a second away from bursting. Fingers crossed that happens.
“Who is he going to believe? His favorite solider”—and future son-in-law—“or the man who was already caught once.”
Roland’s face falls.
Checkmate, cunt.
The wooden chair slides along the rug as I stand, gesturing for Spencer to do the same.
“Sit down,” Roland orders.
Spencer glances between us, indecision ripe in his eyes. I’m not going to make choices for him anymore. If he wants to stay here, I won’t hold it against him. In time, he’ll learn the truth, and maybe then he’ll decide he wants to distance himself from the Shaw name.
I lift my disgusting drink to my lips and down the remaining liquid. “Enjoy the rest of your meal, Father.”
“Sit. Down,” he grinds out.
I turn on my heel and waltz out the door, hearing him rise from his seat.
Spencer stays exactly where he is.
“I’m talking to you.”
“Send the Dornmonts my regards. Oh, and let Daniel know that he has my vote,” I throw over my shoulder.
My last name will still be Shaw, but I’m no longer part of its house.