Page 23 of The Reckoning
“I’m fine,” I say automatically, the response hardwired after years of medical scrutiny. “My heart condition is managed.”
Dr. Banks raises a bushy eyebrow. “I supposemanagedis one word for it. Though from these readings, I’d sayexaggeratedmight be more accurate. At least from the quick explanation I received from one of the Mr. Hayes.”
Exaggerated?His observation feels like a physical slap. It’s what the older man in the suit said too. What I’ve secretly suspected for years but never dared to confirm.
Before I can question him further, the door on the opposite side of the room flies open. It bangs against the wall with enough force to make me flinch.
Dr. Banks is also startled, nearly dropping his clipboard.
All the air in the room seems to evaporate when I spot Arson standing in the doorway, his chest heaving like he’s run a marathon. It takes me a moment to realize he’s wearing an expensive suit. The fabric is rumpled, his tie is missing, and the top buttons are undone.
He looks like he was playing the role of his brother, but why? Our eyes lock and the intensity within that hazel gaze steals the breath from my lungs.
“Leave us,” he says to the doctor, his gaze never wavering from mine. “Now.”
Dr. Banks clears his throat. “She needs rest and monitoring.”
“I know what she needs.” Arson’s voice drops to a dangerous register that brooks no argument. “Get out.”
The doctor sighs as if he realizes he’s lost the battle and starts to gather up his things with unhurried movements that seem to irritate Arson more. “Very well. Please call if anything gets worse.”
“I know how to monitor her,” Arson snaps.
With one last concerned glance at me, Dr. Banks shuffles past Arson and out the door, closing it behind him with pointed gentleness. As soon as he’s gone something shifts between us. The air becomes heavier, as if it’s carrying all the words that need to be said. For a moment, neither of us speaks. Arson remains frozen just inside the room, his gaze roaming over every inch of my body. I can see him mentally cataloging every scrape and bruise, and the old T-shirt I don’t even remember putting on yesterday.
His perfectly sculpted features are tight with varying emotions—relief, rage, guilt, fear—each of them battling for dominance.
“They fucking hurt you,” he finally says, the words raw, scraped from somewhere deep and wounded inside him.
“I’m okay.” I try to soothe his worry. “Where are we? What did I miss?”
In three quick strides, he’s at my side. He drops to his knees on the floor beside the bed. The gesture is so unexpected, so uncharacteristic of the controlled, calculating man I’ve come to know, that it both concerns and warms me at the same time.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, his voice breaking on the words. “I’m so fucking sorry, Lilian. All of this is my fault.”
To see him so devastated, so hurt, kills me. He bows his head, his forehead nearly touching the edge of the mattress while his shoulders curve inward. It looks like he’s folding under the weight of his guilt. I’ve never seen him so vulnerable, stripped ofpretense, his carefully constructed walls crumbling right before my eyes.
It’s terrifying and beautiful all at once. To see such a dangerous man brought to his knees by me.
“Arson,” I whisper his name while reaching out to touch his hair. The strands are softer than I expect, and I run my fingers through the strands a few times to make sure this isn’t a dream. “Look at me.”
He slowly lifts his head, and the naked emotion in his eyes nearly undoes me. It’s at that moment that I realize I’m seeing the real Arson for the first time. All his layers are pulled back. He’s no longer the vengeful mastermind. The cold strategist. No, before me is a man broken and remade by circumstances beyond his control, carrying wounds so deep they’ve become part of his identity.
Just like me.
“Am I pissed off, yes, but mostly at the assholes who took me. Where’s Aries?”
He flinches at his brother’s name and shakes his head. “In the other room, he’s talking to Drew about something else. I’m sure he’ll come barging in any second now.”
I pull away now, staring down at him. “Did you not learn your lesson in all this? Apparently locking you two idiots up did nothing to try to fix things.”
He sighs deeply. “You think things can be fixed with one conversation. That years of abuse and torture can be erased because my brother says he’s sorry?”
It’s my turn to sigh, and I shake my head. “No, maybe that was naive of me to say and think. I know you two have a lot to work through, but I can’t be the bone stuck in the middle. I need to know you’ll try. Tell me you’ll try.”
When his eyes harden along with the set of his jaw, I shake my head. “I know you think you failed me, but you didn’t. Allthat matters is that you came, that you didn’t leave me there.” I cup his cheek this time. “I can’t live without you, and I can’t live without him, either. So regardless of the hatred between you two, you’re both stuck with each other unless you want to hurt me.”
“I would never hurt you.” He shakes his head. “I wish I had been there sooner, that they never got their hands on you in the first place. I should’ve protected you better.” His jaw clenches beneath my palm. “When I heard you scream?—”
