Page 114 of Pink Ink

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 timehe 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—especiallythatpiece.

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.