Page 21 of The Reckoning (Oakmount Elite #7)

TWELVE

LILIAN

“ Y ou might want to check this,” Arson says, handing me my phone as I step out of the bathroom in the clothes we quickly threw on, hair still dripping onto my shoulders. “It’s been blowing up for the past hour.”

I take it from him, careful not to let our fingers touch.

There’s still too much electricity between us, too much rawness after what just happened in the shower with Aries.

My body feels hypersensitive, aware of both twins in a way that should be unsettling but somehow isn’t.

I don’t want to ignite either one unexpectedly.

Part of me feels like I’m juggling a ticking time bomb…

and the other part of me likes the power.

The screen lights up with notifications—seventeen missed calls and twenty-three text messages, all from the same contact: Mother.

“Shit,” I mutter, scrolling through the increasingly frantic texts. The last one, sent just ten minutes ago, is a simple but ominous: WHERE ARE YOU???

Three question marks. Mother never uses multiple punctuation marks. She considers it vulgar, a sign of emotional incontinence. The fact that she’s broken her own rule speaks volumes about her state of mind.

“What does she want?” Aries asks, stepping up behind me.

His hair is damp and tousled, his jeans so very low on his hips.

The evidence of his captivity is stark in the harsh warehouse light—ribs too visible, muscles less defined than they once were, but still undeniably powerful. Still unmistakably him.

“The usual but at like level ten,” I explain, holding up the phone. “She’s been trying to reach me.”

“Can we get away from her until we figure all of this out?” Arson suggests, his voice casual but his eyes watchful. “She’s just trying to reel you back in.”

I don’t point out that he had to interrupt my moment with Aries, wanting to me to contact her, only now to suggest I ignore her. We don’t have time for more squabbles.

I shake my head, moving toward the bedroom to find fresh clothes now. “It’s not that simple. If I don’t respond, she’ll escalate. Trust me, you don’t want to see what that looks like.”

They follow me around the bedroom, maintaining a careful distance from each other. The truce between them feels tenuous, fragile—a gossamer thread that could snap with one wrong word or careless gesture.

I rummage through the duffel bag of clothes someone brought for me, pulling out clean underwear, jeans, and a soft gray sweater.

I strip out of the clothes I was wearing earlier and quickly tug on fresh underwear.

Both men catalog my body as I move in a way that’s so intense it’s almost unsettling.

When I’m fully dressed, Aries turns away to find his own fresh clothing.

Arson continues to stare, like he’s waiting for a chance to remove every stitch I just layered on.

I swallow the urge to let him. I run my fingers through my damp hair, trying to impose some order on the tangled strands.

My reflection in the small mirror above a beat-up dresser shows flushed cheeks, bright eyes, swollen lips—all evidence of the past hour’s activities.

I look alive in a way I haven’t in years. Maybe ever.

“What’s the plan?” Aries asks, already pulling on his own clothes with efficient movements. “Regarding your mother.”

I sigh, sitting on the edge of the bed as the reality of my situation crashes back over me. The bubble of desire and connection we’d created in the shower bursts, leaving me facing the cold facts of our predicament once more.

“I have to call her,” I say, staring down at the phone in my hand. “If I don’t, she’ll send people looking for me. And they’ll find me, find us. She’s relentless that way.”

“Let her try,” Arson says with quiet menace, leaning against the wall with deceptive casualness. “I’ve hidden from the Hayes family for years. I know how to disappear.”

“It’s not just about hiding,” I explain, looking up at him. “It’s about buying time. We need to figure out what those men want with Aries, why they’re funding your revenge. If my mother creates a manhunt, we’ll be too busy running to find answers.”

Aries nods, buttoning his shirt with precise movements. “She’s right. We need breathing room. A distraction.”

“Exactly,” I agree, relieved that at least one of them understands. “Let me handle my mother. I’ve been managing her my whole life.”

With that, I stand and move toward the door. “I need coffee for this conversation.”

They follow me out to the makeshift kitchen, where someone—Arson, probably—has already started a pot brewing. The smell of it is comforting, a touch of normalcy in our decidedly abnormal situation.

Light filters through the dusty warehouse windows, casting long shadows across the space.

I sit at the small table, nursing a cup of coffee, trying to make sense of my impossible situation.

Two identical men, both carrying pieces of my heart for different reasons.

Both dangerous in their own ways. Both now bound by an arrangement that should feel tawdry but somehow doesn’t.

The phone on the table before me seems to mock my indecision. I’ve been staring at it for twenty minutes, rehearsing what to say, how to sound normal when nothing about my life is normal anymore.

“Just call her,” Aries says from where he leans against the counter, his voice gentle but firm. “The longer you wait, the worse it’ll be.”

“It’s not that simple,” I reply, wrapping both hands around my mug like it might anchor me to reality. “She’ll know something’s wrong. She always does.”

Aries moves closer, his movements more fluid today, less constrained by anger and suspicion. The release of the shower seems to have eased something in him, smoothed some of the jagged edges captivity left behind.

“You don’t have to tell her anything,” he says, pouring himself coffee from the pot on the counter. “Just check in. Buy us some time.”

“Time for what?” Arson asks, eyeing his twin with barely concealed suspicion. Where Aries moves with renewed ease this morning, Arson seems coiled tighter than ever, watching us both with narrowed eyes.

The tension between them has shifted since last night—not gone, never that, but altered into something more complex than simple hatred. Something that contains acknowledgment, if not acceptance.

“Time to figure out our next move,” I say, before they can start circling each other again. “We still don’t know what those men want with Aries, or why they’re funding your revenge, Arson.”

“We know they want Richard’s head,” Arson reminds me, taking a seat at the table across from me. “That part’s clear enough.”

“But why?” I press, leaning forward. “What’s their stake in all this? What do they gain from destroying the Hayes empire?”

Neither twin has an answer for that, the silence stretching uncomfortably between us. I sigh and pick up the phone, knowing I can’t delay the inevitable any longer.

“Just…be quiet while I do this,” I tell them both. “Let me handle my mother.”

They nod in unison, a synchronized movement that would be comical under different circumstances. I take a deep breath and hit the button on my mother’s contact.

She answers on the second ring, her voice sharp with anxiety. “Lilian? Is that you?”

“Yes, Mom,” I say, working to keep my tone light and casual. “It’s me.”

“Where have you been?” The relief in her voice quickly gives way to controlled anger. “I’ve been calling and texting for days. Your professors called because you’ve missed classes. Do you have any idea how worried I’ve been?”

The guilt hits harder than expected. For all our complicated history, for all the lies and manipulation, she is still my mother. Still the woman who held me through countless doctor’s appointments, who sat by my hospital bed, who built her life around my supposed fragility.

“I’m sorry,” I say, and mean it. “My phone died, and I’ve been caught up in a research project. Lost track of time.”

“Lost track of—” She cuts herself off, and I can practically see her counting to ten the way she does when trying to maintain composure. “Lilian, that is completely unacceptable. You know the rules. You know why we have protocols in place.”

The protocols. The check-ins. The constant monitoring that has defined my existence since childhood. All supposedly for my protection and health. All built on a foundation of lies I’m only beginning to understand.

“I know,” I say, falling back into old patterns despite myself. “I should have called. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry doesn’t cut it this time.” Her voice hardens, taking on the tone that brooks no argument. “I want you to come home. Today. Dr. Winters is coming by this afternoon to check you over.”

My blood runs cold at the mention of the family doctor—the man who’s overseen my “condition” for years, who administers my medications, who keeps meticulous records that I now suspect contain more fiction than fact.

“I can’t today,” I say, scrambling for an excuse. “I have a…presentation. For Professor Hendricks’s class.”

“I’ve already spoken with your professors.” The smug certainty in her voice makes my stomach drop. “They’ve been informed of your medical emergency and have granted extensions on all assignments.”

Of course she has. Mother has always been thorough in her control, always ten steps ahead of any attempted rebellion.

Across the table, Arson’s expression darkens, clearly reading the distress on my face. Aries moves closer, his hand coming to rest on the back of my chair—not quite touching me, but close enough that I can feel his presence like a physical weight.

“What time?” I ask, knowing I’m beaten, at least in this round.

“Four o’clock,” she says, triumph evident in her tone. “Don’t be late. And Lilian? I expect a full explanation when you arrive.”

The line goes dead before I can respond. I set the phone down carefully, as if it might explode if handled too roughly.

“Well?” Aries prompts when I remain silent.