Page 132 of Pink Ink

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.”