Page 115 of Pink Ink

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 isnotyour student.”

Rage slices a path down my spine. I’m vibrating with it. He’sforbiddingme 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 sayingcongratulations, 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.