Page 2 of The Reckoning
I nod my head in agreement. “We can settle scores later.”
Drew hesitates, the key card still in hand. “So you both care about her that much?”
“Yes,” we answer simultaneously, another unsettling moment of twin synchronicity despite our hatred.
The look on Drew’s face shifts into shock mixed with respect. He’s known me long enough to recognize when I’m putting aside a personal vendetta for something more important. Maybe he thinks that by knowing me, he knows my twin, as well. He has no clue who Arson is or what he will do. He should be as wary as me when it comes to him, but none of that seems to matter, since right now, all I care about is getting to Lilian. We don’t have fucking time for any of this bullshit.
“Fine,” Drew mutters, finally stepping forward to unlock the door and enter. “But if either of you is fucking with me, you’ll regret it.” He moves toward my restraints first, then holds his hand out to Arson. “Key.”
“Where did you find the card?” Arson asks as he slaps the key into Drew’s palm.
Drew makes quick work of the first cuff. “Outside, near the east entrance,” he says, moving to the second restraint. “Figured it was dropped accidentally. I saw your car and decided to see if I could get any answers.”
The restraint falls away, and I resist the urge to rub my raw wrists. Instead, I watch Drew’s hands carefully —the same hands that passed me drinks in college, that helped me when I was too drunk to stand, that I trusted for years to lead me and protect me. Hands that had no problem shaking my replacement’s hand while I rotted in captivity.
The moment I’m free, every instinct screams to lunge at both of them—Drew for not even noticing one of his best friendswas missing, and Arson for everything else. Thankfully, I have enough self-control to suppress it, focusing on what matters now since I know there will be time for retribution later, once Lilian is safe.
“We need to figure out where she went,” I say, finally rubbing my wrists, eyes locked on Drew in silent accusation. He doesn’t seem to notice, or maybe he just doesn’t give a shit.
I stand slowly, muscles protesting after hours of restraint. The cell’s dimensions feel even more claustrophobic now that I’m upright—a concrete box designed to break the spirit as much as contain the body. Perfectly calculated, just like everything else my brother does, apparently.
“How long have you been locked up?” Drew asks, actually sounding concerned. “You look like shit.”
“Months,” I reply tersely. “The days blend when you’re inside a cage.” His eyes widen slightly, and I see calculation forming, chased by guilt, before it clears.
Good, let him stew in it.
Arson leads us toward his security room, moving with the confidence of someone in familiar territory. I follow, cataloging every door, building the mental map I’d begun to create of my prison. Or at least what I gained the night of my near escape. Knowledge I should have had weeks ago, if I’d been more careful, more observant. If I hadn’t underestimated my own brother.
Then again, how could I have known?
Everything about my brother was pushed so far into the back of my mind. Every lie my father told, every beating he gave me to force me to forget Arson—all of it tries to surge forward at once.
I can’t let it.I shove those thoughts deep, so deep all I feel is a numb awareness of their presence, and I focus on the men with me.
“This place is insane,” Drew comments, looking around at the converted warehouse. “How long have you been planning this whole twin-revenge thing?”
“Years,” Arson says shortly, clearly uninterested in small talk. “The security room is this way. We can check the camera feeds and get a better idea of which direction she headed.”
The walk gives me time to study my twin from behind—the squared shoulders, the measured stride, the constant awareness of his surroundings. He moves like someone who has learned to navigate hostile environments, expecting threats from all sides.
What exactly did they do to him in that place?
The security room is a stark contrast to the industrial warehouse—featuring sleek monitors, state-of-the-art equipment, and a setup that would make government agencies envious. The room screams obsession, years of planning, and single-minded focus. Another stark reminder of how thoroughly I’d been outplayed.
“Jesus,” Drew mutters. “You weren’t fucking around.”
Arson ignores him, typing rapidly on the keyboard. Multiple camera feeds appear on the screens, their time stamps indicating they’re from yesterday.
“There,” he says, pointing at one screen showing Lilian exiting through the side door. The time stamp reads 5:42 p.m. “She left this way.”
We watch in silence as she walks across the loading area, her head down, clearly upset. She pauses at the edge of the property, looking back at the warehouse once before continuing out of frame. The sight of her makes something in my chest contract painfully.
Even through the grainy footage, I can see the changes in her since this all began—the way she carries herself differently and the determined set of her shoulders despite her obvious distress.Whatever happened between us in that flood has transformed her, just as it’s transformed me. I crave her more than ever now.
“Switch to the street view,” I suggest, leaning closer.
Arson types again, bringing up another camera feed. This one shows the access road outside the warehouse. Lilian appears, walking quickly now, arms wrapped around herself like she’s cold. Or scared.
