Page 11 of The Reckoning
“What is it? What do you want?”
“Justice,” he says simply. “Restitution. Correction of certain… historical inequities.”
His response is deliberately vague, but there’s an edge to his voice that sends a chill down my spine. This isn’t just business for them. It’s something uglier, something deeper. It’s personal.
“So you plan to kill Richard Hayes and destroy the company? Do you think that it stops there?”
“It’s a place to start.” The older man studies me, his head tilted ever so slightly. “I do find it a little strange that you don’t seem particularly distressed at the prospect of your family’s demise.”
I think of Richard Hayes—his cold eyes, calculated smile, and the way he’s always looked at me like a disappointing investment that hasn’t yielded an appropriate return. The way he treated my mother. The way he discarded Arson. Even though he’s been married to my mother for years, I’ve never seen him as a father figure. Nothing is loving or fatherly about him.
“I’m not,” I admit.
“Interesting.” He exchanges a look with his partner. “And your mother? Where do your loyalties lie where she is concerned?”
For a moment, I’m frozen in time. The question hits a nerve. My mother and I have a complicated relationship—love tangledwith resentment, protection twisted with control. She’s been my advocate and my jailer, my support system and my biggest critic. Her love is suffocating, yet in some ways, I understand why she is the way she is.
It doesn’t mean I agree with anything she’s done, though.
“My mother does what she has to do to survive,” I say carefully.
“As do we all.” The older man’s expression softens, but only by a fraction. “Your condition—your heart. It’s shaped your entire life, hasn’t it? The way people see you, and the way you see yourself.”
I shift uncomfortably. My heart condition has defined me since childhood. The fragile Hayes daughter, too delicate for the real world—always watched, always monitored, always protected. A glass figurine put on the highest shelf.
But the truth is, I’m none of those things. Not really. The past weeks with Arson and Aries have shown me that much. I’m stronger than any of us ever knew, including myself.
“My condition is managed,” I say tersely.
“Is it?” There’s something knowing in his tone. “Or was it...exaggerated, and you reset yourself when you stopped taking all of those medications so regularly? After all, revenge does put a damper on routine.”
The question hangs in the air between us, loaded with implications I’m not ready to face. Not here and definitely not with these men.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I repeat my previous response, but the words sound hollow even to my own ears.
The older man gives me a satisfied grin, like I’ve confirmed something for him.
He opens his mouth to speak again, but the younger man suddenly straightens, his head cocked toward the door. “We have company.”
The older man frowns, his gaze darting to his watch. “What a shame. Earlier than expected.”
A noise from somewhere outside the room—faint but unmistakable—can be heard. There’s a thud followed by an eerie silence that makes my pulse quicken.
Is it Arson and Aries?Did they come for me? Hope builds in my chest. The younger man moves toward the door, one of his hands slipping inside his jacket. The older one remains seated, perfectly composed despite the interruption.
I’m startled when I hear another sound—closer this time, followed by a muffled grunt and a soft thump. The younger man draws a gun and positions himself beside the door. I tense and start to pull against the restraints.
If there’s going to be gunfire, I’m the perfect target tied to this chair.
“Perhaps your knight in shining armor has arrived,” the older man says, staring at me, clearly watching my face for a reaction. “Though I wonder which one it is—the avenging twin or the golden child?”
Before I can respond, a gunshot pierces the air—not inside our room, but close enough to make me flinch. The sound reverberates, followed by shouting, then silence again.
I freeze, physically and mentally.
Not a panic attack, not now. I can’t afford to be weak.
Breathe, Lilian.
