Page 64 of Creeping Lily

LILY

“ G et your fucking hands off me!” I scream, the words ripping up from my chest until my throat burns. It’s not just rage—it’s grief, sharp and feral.

Bentley doesn’t flinch. His fingers are iron around my arm, crushing bone and muscle as if he means to leave his mark there forever. He drags me down the narrow cellar passage, the air thick with the stench of damp stone and decay.

We’d driven for hours after he shot Linc.

Shot him.

The image keeps slamming into my skull like a hammer—the deafening roar of the gun, the way Linc’s body jerked, the red blooming across his chest. The look in his eyes as he sank to his knees—steady, unflinching, even as his life leaked out onto the floor.

My lungs seize up, my breaths coming shallow and fast, as though I can’t pull in enough air to survive the memory.

“You murdered him!” The words break out of me like glass shattering, jagged and sharp. “You killed your own brother!” My voice cracks, the accusation twisted with disbelief, horror.

Bentley says nothing. His silence is worse than anything he could possibly say .

“I watched him fall, Bentley!” My words spiral into a sob, my chest heaving. “I watched the light go out of his eyes and you—” I choke on the rest, tears stinging so hard they blur the world around me. “You didn’t even look at him. You just… walked away.”

I yank against his hold, clawing at his wrist, but his grip only tightens.

He drags me like I’m nothing. Like Linc was nothing.

The thought guts me.

“You don’t get to erase him!” My voice is breaking apart now, trembling with both fury and grief. “I will remember him until my last breath, and I hope you hear his name in your head every time you close your eyes. I hope it haunts you. I hope it guts you from the inside out.”

Bentley yanks me down a final set of concrete steps, the air growing colder with each one. The cellar is ancient—walls sweating moisture, the air heavy with mold and the copper tang of rust. It smells like no one’s been down here in years, like it’s been waiting for something ugly to happen.

I stumble as he shoves me forward. My shoulder clips a stone wall and pain flares down my arm, but Bentley doesn’t slow. His face is carved from ice, his eyes dead and fixed ahead.

At the far end of the cellar waits a heavy metal door—bars crisscrossing like a cage.

He hauls it open, the hinges screaming, and shoves me inside hard enough that my knees hit the cold, gritty floor.

The sting shoots up my legs, but before I can turn on him, the door slams shut with a metallic clang.

Bentley locks it in one sharp, practiced motion. The sound of the bolt sliding home is final. It’s the sound of being buried alive.

And from the other side of the bars, he just looks at me—like shooting his own brother and throwing me in a cage is nothing more than a day’s work .

“I hate you!” I hiss. “You murdering, traitorous, lieing bastard.”

“Don’t make me come back in there and tie you up, Lily,” Bentley warns, his voice steely.

“Why are you doing this?” The words scrape out of me, thin and shaky. I hate the sound of it—hate how small I feel—but somewhere in the back of my mind, I keep thinking that if I plead enough, I’ll wake up from this nightmare.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he says again, like repeating the lie might make it true.

“Oh?” I drag what little courage I have up from the pit in my stomach and force it into my voice. “So you’re just going to leave me down here until the rats decide I’m worth a taste?”

His mouth twitches—not a smile, just that faint, condescending curl that says he’s already won.

The reply doesn’t come from Bentley. A deeper voice cuts through the stale air. “I see you still have that vivid writer’s imagination.”

I jerk toward the sound. From the shadows beyond the bars, Tom Walker—Senator Tom Walker—steps into the sickly light. The sight of him punches the air out of my lungs. I shouldn’t be shocked he’s here, but I am. And worse—he’s not shocked to see me .

The former senator, I remind myself bitterly.

“Where’s your brother?” Tom asks, his voice measured, almost casual.

“Gone,” Bentley says flatly, meeting his father’s stare. “He’s dead.”

Something shifts in Tom’s expression. He dips his head, just slightly, and for a moment I think I see grief—but it’s cold, controlled, more a nod to protocol than to love.

“I told you not to,” Tom says .

“It was either kill or be killed,” Bentley fires back, his tone defensive, his jaw set in stone.

“Liar!” The word rips from my throat before I can stop it, echoing off the damp concrete.

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 the little 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 know exactly who 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 twisted reason. 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 own son !” 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.”

“Until he went rogue,” Tom says, his tone turning sharp. “Too righteous for his own good. Refused to play the game the way it’s meant to be played. Walkers don’t get to choose their path—they’re born into it. They’re made for greatness.”

“You’re sick,” I spit.

He studies me like a man dissecting a specimen. “He never could stay away from you. I knew you’d be his undoing.”

“You killed him. Don’t you dare put his death on me,” I snarl. “Your greed and your ambition killed him. You’re both cowards—Bentley and you alike.”

“Watch your tone, Lily,” Bentley’s voice cuts in as he returns, stepping into the dim light. He tosses me a bottle of water but keeps the sandwich in his grip, dangling it like bait.

“If you’re keeping me here against my will, don’t expect compliance,” I tell him. “You’re going to kill me anyway, so I’ll make your life hell on my way out.”

Tom sighs like I’m a difficult child. “Oh, Lily. Bentley’s not going to kill you.” He lets the pause stretch just long enough for dread to crawl over my skin. “He’s going to marry you.”