Page 148 of Pink Ink

Maddox’s dad tried to kill me, and I just found outmyfather faked his own death. I’m going to need time to process. Maybe talk it out with a therapist, and potentially get blackout drunk with Kimi and Nicole.

“Being ready isn’t a state of mind. It’s a choice.”

I nearly roll my eyes. He and Mom always loved his poster sayings. “Then you can wait until I’ve made that choice.”

I’m unsure at what point in the conversation he thought he could start ordering me around, but he’s sorely misjudged. If the strained look on his face is any indication, he isn’t used to someone else calling out the shots.

He holds out his hand. “Truce?”

I hesitate before shaking it. “For now.For Mom.”

“I’ll be at Harper’s Diner at eight on Wednesday should you change your mind.” Nodding my head, I take his business card. “Call me if you need anything—and I mean anything.”

I won’t. “Okay.”

My knuckles turn white as I grip the card tighter, watching him walk out of the front door. The silence that follows the shutting door is maddening.

“You really are your father’s daughter.”

My attention snaps toward Maddox, who’s still leaning against the counter and grinning, making me forget all about my rising anxiety.

“I amnothinglike my father,” I grit out.

“Whatever you say.”

MADDOX

By the time I finish marking assignments, wash the paint from my hands, stop by one of my properties, and check in on Reyna, I’m well and truly on my way to being late to see Roland. A fact confirmed by a text from him at precisely 7:31, pointing out that I’m not there.

My natural reaction is to start driving below the speed limit.

The two individuals who created me chose to call anemergency family meetingafter 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.”