Page 8 of The Reckoning
“They want Richard,” I finally manage, each word forced through clenched teeth. “Dead. Within forty-eight hours.”
Aries’s face hardens, something cold and dangerous settling in his eyes. A mirror of my own hatred, reflected at me.
“Then that’s what they’ll get,” he says simply.
For the first time in over two decades, we’re in perfect, terrible agreement.
I look down at my bloodied hand, then back at my twin—the brother I’ve spent years plotting to destroy. Now we’re allies, bound by a common purpose: save Lilian, kill our father.
The warehouse feels different now. Not a tomb or a prison, but a war room. And for the first time since I began this crusade of vengeance, I’m not alone in it.
It should feel like victory. Instead, it tastes like ash.
I meet Aries’s eyes, open my texts, and send back my terms. They can take them, or I’ll be storming their location until every person is dead.
One week.
I get Lilian back because we need her, and you give me one week to destroy them all.
Dots appear as they read and respond.
Done. There will be no second chances.
I have a week to kill Richard. And we’ll go pick up Lilian now. So help me if they’ve hurt her. Nothing will stop me from killing every fucking one of them, backers or not. No matter what it costs me. She’s mine, and I’ll protect her with my life.
An address follows the previous text, and I’m racing out the door with Aries and Drew on my heels.
THREE
LILIAN
Asudden sharp pain lances across my forearm, carrying with it a burning sensation.
“Scream,” the younger man whispers, his breath hot against my ear. “Scream his name or I’ll make it hurt.”
My gaze catches on the glint of a blade and the butt of the knife in the man’s hand. He’s using the perfect amount of pressure to press the blade into my skin, but only deep enough to cut, not enough to do serious damage. A thin line of blood beads across my flesh, bright crimson against the paleness. The last thing I want to do is give them the satisfaction of using my fear against Aries and Arson, but I’m not stupid enough to test him.
If I don’t do what he wants, then he’ll ramp up the torture, and something tells me he’s good at torturing, especially with such cold eyes, ones that appear to be void of life. I’ve seen that look before—in board rooms, at charity galas, and in my mother’s eyes when she thinks no one is watching. To them, we’re expendable and replaceable in every sense.
“ARSON!” I scream, letting genuine fear and pain loose in my voice.
It’s not hard to do, especially because I am afraid. Not just of these men, but of what they represent—the hidden strings,the puppet masters behind the Hayes family drama. The ones who’ve been funding Arson’s revenge.
The phone is pulled away before I can say anything else, and a hand clamps down over my mouth. I taste salt and metal—sweat and the remnants of my own blood from when they first grabbed me by my tongue.
The room spins while my heart hammers against my ribs to the point of pain.
Breathe, Lilian.Steady. Don’t show them weakness.
My mother’s voice is in my head, as always. The constant narrator of my life, telling me how to act, how to feel, and how to breathe. Even now, miles away from her, she’s watching me through the lens of years of conditioning.
Back straight. Chin up. Hayes women don’t show fear.
The man with the phone—older, refined, and wearing an expensive watch—finishes the conversation and hangs up the phone. The subtle nod he gives his partner makes my stomach clench.
“Thank you for your cooperation, Miss Hayes,” he says, like we’ve just concluded a business meeting instead of a hostage negotiation.
The hand on my mouth disappears, and the knife moves away from my arm.
