Page 37 of The Reckoning
I trail kisses down her neck, tasting water and the salt of her skin. My hand moves higher on her thigh, fingers tracing patterns that make her shiver despite the heat of the shower. The bathroom door opens wider, Arson’s footsteps echoing on the tile as he approaches the shower.
I tense, anger flaring at the interruption, but Lilian’s hand on my cheek draws my attention back to her.
“It’s okay,” she murmurs, though I’m not sure which of us she’s reassuring.
The shower door slides open, cooler air rushing in as Arson steps into the space, fully clothed. He’s holding something in his hand, a syringe, I realize, as he kneels beside us.
“What the hell are you doing?” I demand, instinctively pulling Lilian closer, shielding her with my body.
“Ensuring the future,” Arson replies cryptically, his gaze meeting Lilian’s over my shoulder. “Turn around.”
To my surprise, she complies, though she keeps one hand firmly on my arm, maintaining contact. I watch, confusion turning to shock as Arson lifts the syringe to the curve of her ass.
“I’ll die before I let you have his baby,” he says, voice flat as he administers the injection with practiced efficiency.
The statement lands like a physical blow, implications spinning through my mind too quickly to process. Contraception? Preventive measure? Whatever it is, the casual way he’s done it, the presumption behind the action, ignites a primal and violent need within me.
“What the fuck did you just give her?” I demand, turning her back to face me, checking her expression for signs of distress.
“Relax,” Arson says, standing and stepping back from the shower. “It’s just a contraceptive. The good kind. The one that lasts.”
“Okay, but you didn’t think to ask her first? To let her decide?” The rage builds, threatening to overwhelm the desire that was consuming me moments ago.
“She agreed when she decided to fuck both of us,” he says with a casual shrug that makes my hands itch to close around his throat. “No Hayes bastards. No complications. No divided loyalties.”
Lilian places a hand on my chest, directly over my racing heart. “It’s fine,” she says, though her expression suggests it’s anything but. “I would have agreed if he’d asked. He’s right about one thing—a pregnancy would complicate an already impossible situation.”
The reasonable part of me knows she’s right. The primal part, the part that’s been caged and cornered and pushed beyond rational thought, wants to tear my brother apart for touching her, for making decisions about her body without consultation,for inserting himself into a moment that should have been just between us.
“Don’t touch her again without her explicit consent,” I warn him, voice dropping to a dangerous register. “Save the commentary. You’re here to watch, not participate.”
Arson’s expression shifts, something cold and calculating replacing the casual arrogance. “You think I trust you alone with her? After everything?”
“I’m not the one who kidnaps people and locks them in cages,” I remind him, my voice sharp as blades. “I’m not the crazy one here.”
“Aren’t you?” he counters, head tilting slightly as he studies me. “Months in captivity, your identity stolen, your life dismantled piece by piece. And you expect me to believe that hasn’t changed you? Hasn’t pushed you to the edge of sanity?”
The accusation hits too close to home, touching on fears I’ve been trying to ignore since my release. The rage that simmers constantly beneath my skin now, the violent impulses, the cold calculation that was never part of my personality before—it’s all evidence that something fundamental has shifted within me.
“Stop,” Lilian says firmly, drawing both our attention back to her. “I want both of you, not one or the other—both of you—so stop fighting each other. The only person you’re hurting is me.”
She’s right, of course. This standoff—this endless circling of old wounds and new grievances—solves nothing. Accomplishes nothing except to push her further away from both of us. I take a deep breath, forcing the anger down, locking it away for later examination. For now, I have more pressing concerns. More immediate desires.
“Leave,” I tell Arson, not bothering to look at him. “Wait outside. You’ve fulfilled your obligation to be present.”
There’s a tense moment of silence, and I think he might refuse, might push the confrontation further, but he surprisesme when he steps back. The bathroom door closes behind him with a decisive click, leaving us alone in the steam-filled shower, water still cascading over our intertwined bodies.
“I’m sorry,” I murmur, pressing my forehead against hers. “For all of it. For him. For the situation we’re in.”
“Don’t be,” she replies, hands sliding up my chest to rest on my shoulders. “I made my choice. Eyes wide open.”
The trust in her gaze, the certainty in her touch—it undoes me in ways I can’t articulate. After everything she’s seen, everything she knows about the darkness in my family, in me, she’s still here. Still choosing this, choosing us, despite our complicated and broken nature.
I capture her mouth with mine again, pouring everything I can’t say into the kiss. All the emotion I can’t name, the need I can’t fully understand, the gratitude for her presence in this hellscape my life has become.
Her response is immediate and enthusiastic, her body arching into mine with a desperation that matches my own. My hands slide down her sides, mapping the curves of her body with reverent attention. Memorizing every dip and swell, every spot that makes her breath catch, every touch that draws a moan from her lips.
The water continues to fall around us, washing away everything but this moment, this connection. For the first time since my captivity began, I feel fully present in my own skin. Fully alive. I lift her against the shower wall, and she wraps her shapely legs around my waist. At this moment, I know with bone-deep certainty that whatever happens next, whatever revenge my brother has planned, whatever mysteries surround the men who took Lilian—none of it matters as much as this.
