Page 43 of Pink Ink

Five years ago Daniel was a nobody paladin who’d been loyal to House Sutherland since day one. But he’s now risen to be the greatest threat to my father and future father-in-law.

He’s the one contender who could replace one of the current houses. Daniel has the acolytes eating out of the palm of his hand—something my father hasn’t been able to pull off.

Daniel is everything he’s not: He’s young (late thirties) and fun, has a full head of hair, and is actually likable.

Someone hoots, and it’s truly fantastic not needing to hide my grin behind the mask.

“Thank you, my brothers and sisters. Please, I don’t deserve such a warm welcome.” Daniel beams, placing a hand over his heart.

“So humble,” Spencer quietly snorts from beside me.

It helps that Daniel isn’t wearing the two red ropes that high saints wear. All he has is the cloak like the rest of us.

“Many of us are strangers to each other, but every month we come under the same roof for the same reason. For generations we have held the power to make this world better.” Try corrupt, dangerous, immoral instead. “We’ve written the footnotes of history while others got the headlines. We carry the burden of the unseen, day in and day out. We do it for us, and our children, and our children’s children.”

Kill me now.

Look, the guy knows how to move people, and I agree with what he’s saying. I simply want no part in witnessing any of it. I have a running list of things to do that impact my livelihood, and none of those things involve the Order.

“Except we aren’t doing it for our children anymore.”

Here we go. Time to make Roland’s eyes roll.

“For all the influence we hold in this world; the blood, sweat, and tears we’ve spilled for our houses—What have we gained? Where did the wealth go? To serve the few in the hopes that we may one day be in their position.” He looks amongst the crowd.

Daniel caters to the neophytes and the paladins, the lowest ranked that Roland and Dornmont are falling behind on. They forgot who bleeds so they can have their money. Daniel hasn’t.

“I stand here before you not to rule you. I am here to be your partner. Someone you can trust to act inyourinterest and your children’s interest, and the interest of your children’s children.”

Okay, let’s wrap it up.

“So as you vote this cycle, I ask only one thing: What do you value?” He walks in a slow circle around the dais. “Our power comes at the price of corruption, but what matters is what you intend to do with it. Be puppets or be the ones holding the water while the worldabove is on fire? Remember, we work together in the shadows to live in the light.”

Fuck it. Maybe I’ll vote for him instead of House Sutherland.

The room erupts into applause as Daniel returns to his seat, and I do what any good son must to support his father’s campaign, I bring my hands together and clap louder than any other person in our row.

Daniel stands up on the platform, smiling like a man who already knows he’s won. The question is, whose seat is he going to take: Father’s, the Dornmonts’, or the Hopkins’?

The grand magistrate’s right-hand man drifts up the platform to the center candelabra to extinguish its flame with a candle snuffer.

And that concludes the ceremonial part of tonight’s gathering.

People jump to their feet almost instantaneously. Most of the acolytes will be leaving here in their robes and masks, changing right before they make it to the public eye.

I’m not a jealous person, and yet I envy every person who gets to leave. More so when Roland comes right up to me as soon as I stand. Abi and Spencer—those lucky bastards—make themselves scarce.

My sperm donor removes his mask and orders me to do the same. Obviously I keep it on.

I grit my teeth when he wraps an arm around my shoulders and pulls me against him like we have a healthy, functional father-son relationship. It’s part of his “family man” show.

He tugs me forward, to join the very back of the masses exiting the building.

He lowers his voice and keeps his expression easy. “I don’t know what games you’re foolish enough to think you can play, but you are here for a purpose. The moment you stop serving that purpose, I will find someone more useful.”

The mask hides my scowl.

His arm drops from around me as we file out of the room, and like a good, leashed dog, I follow him into his study down the hall. Thechandelier lights up and illuminates a room that’s straight out of a 1960s Hollywood Mafia don’s lair. It’s an obnoxious mixture of mahogany and red, and the occasional splash of black.