Page 125 of Creeping Lily
Both men turn toward me. For a heartbeat, I’m staring at two versions of the same man—Bentley’s face a younger, sharper copy of his father’s. Linc never looked like them. I don’t know how I missed it before, but now it’s glaring. They’re cut from the same block of ice.
Bentley’s gaze locks on me, and something cold and lethal shutters down over his features. “Careful,” he says, voice low enough to make my skin prickle. “I’m more than happy to gag you again… and tie you up until you remember how to behave.”
His eyes don’t just hold anger—they hold ownership. And standing behind those bars, the stale air thick with mold and menace, I realize he’s not bluffing.
“What do you want?” I snap, turning my attention to Tom Walker. There’s no reasoning with his deranged son, so I aim my question at the only other monster in the room.
“Lily Snow,” he murmurs, his voice slow and oily. “I always knew there was a spitfire under all that sweetness. I was right.”
I cross my arms, forcing myself to stand tall, to look him dead in the eye like he doesn’t scare me. With age, he’s lost weight—where he was once lean, now he’s all sharp angles and brittle frame. But there’s still steel in him. A predator’s steel.
“What. Do. You. Want?” I grind the words out.
“Through an extraordinary set of circumstances, you’ve managed to wander back into our lives,” he says smoothly. “At the least opportune time.”
“No ‘circumstances’ here,” I bite out. “Call it what it is—kidnapping. Add it to your son’s ever-growing list of crimes.”
Tom scoffs and steps closer, stopping at the bars of my cell. His eyes rake over me, as if measuring when I stopped being thelittle girl who could be shoved into a corner and silenced. He doesn’t see fear. And I know that unsettles him.
“Both of my sons have been accused of horrendous things,” he says. “Nothing anyone could prove. As far as the world knows, my other son perished in a fire years ago. No crimes of his can be traced back to us.”
“But I can trace them,” I say flatly.
“You can,” he admits, no shame in his voice.
“You’re both certifiable if you think I’ll let you get away with this,” I hiss. Then I turn, jabbing a finger in Bentley’s direction. “And you—if you think I’ll let you run for Senate without screaming rape from every rooftop, you’re wrong. I’ll burn your campaign to ash and gladly watch you fall.”
It’s not a threat. It’s a promise. If my life ends here, I’ll go out clawing and screaming until my last breath.
Bentley scoffs. “Not sure what you think you can accomplish from behind those bars, but I look forward to watching you try.”
“Son, get her some water. Maybe something to eat,” Tom orders. Bentley shoots me one last glare before disappearing up the stairs.
“How long will you keep me here?” I ask, foolishly hoping I’m talking to the only adult in the room.
“As long as it takes to break you.” He lets the words hang in the air like a death sentence. “I can’t have you running interference in Bentley’s campaign.”
“I wouldn’t have wanted to—until now. But since he’s playing dirty, I’ll play dirtier.”
Tom’s eyes narrow. “You don’t know who you’re messing with, little girl.”
“I knowexactlywho I’m messing with,” I fire back. “I know all about you, Tom Walker. I know about Larry Shine, and how you stole Lincoln from his real mother—for whatever twistedreason. You broke the law while you were sitting in the Senate. You’ve been in bed with criminals for decades.”
The venom in my voice could strip paint, but he only smiles, the expression slow and mocking. “And yet… there’s that little thing called evidence.”
“I have plenty,” I snap—then realize I’ve made a mistake.
Because his hand slips inside his jacket and comes out with the ledger.
My stomach drops. Bentley must have gone back for it after stuffing me in the trunk and leaving me there for what felt like hours.
“Is this the evidence you’re referring to?” Tom asks, smiling like a man who knows the game is already won. “Funny how every piece of proof against us is disappearing. Lincoln did us a favor when he killed the Shines. Can’t say he never earned his keep.”
“And yet you had him killed. Your ownson!” I scream, the sound ricocheting off the concrete.
His smile fades. “You said it yourself—he wasn’t my son.”
“You raised him. He carried your name. He was yours in every way that mattered.”
