Page 4 of The Reckoning (Oakmount Elite #7)

THREE

LILIAN

A sudden 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.

“Fuck you,” I spit, voice steadier than I feel.

He smiles, amused rather than offended. “Such foul language from a Hayes heiress. What would your mother say?”

“Probably that I should have used a more creative insult.”

He laughs, and the sound is genuine, which is somehow worse than anger would be. Like we’re playing a game with rules only he understands.

I peer around the room where I’m being kept. It looks like a corporate apartment—neutral colors, generic furniture, no personal touches. A gilded cage, but a cage nonetheless. The windows are blacked out, but I’m pretty sure we’re high up somewhere. The city sounds distant.

I’ve been here for hours, though it feels longer.

My arms ache from the zip ties cutting into my wrists, and my head throbs where they grabbed me.

Those things suck, but it’s the superficial stuff that bothers me most—the rub of my leggings at my ankles, the way my hair continues to fall into my eyes.

They’re the stupidest things to focus on when my life is in danger, but they’re the things I can control, even if only in my mind.

The man with the knife—younger, harder around the edges despite the expensive suit—watches me with open curiosity.

“What?” I snap at him.

“You’re not what I expected,” he retorts, head tilted slightly. “For someone with a supposedly fragile heart, you’ve got quite the spirit.”

I resist the urge to correct him about my condition. Let them think I’m weaker than I am. Mother taught me that, too—never reveal your full hand, especially to enemies.

“Sorry to disappoint,” I say instead.

The older man puts his phone away, adjusting his cuff links with practiced precision.

There’s something familiar about him—something in the set of his jaw, and the way he holds himself.

In the back of my head, there’s a memory, although it refuses to come forward.

I’ve seen him before, somewhere on the periphery of my life.

One of Richard’s business associates? One of Mother’s countless friends ?

“We have some time before our deadline,” he says, settling into an armchair across from me. “Perhaps we could use it productively.”

“If by productively, you mean interrogating me? No thanks.”

“Conversation, Miss Hayes. Civil discourse between interested parties.”

“Can you speak normally? If you wanted to have a civil conversation, kidnapping me wasn’t a good way to go about it.”

“It was a regrettable necessity.” He gestures to the younger man, who produces a first-aid kit and begins cleaning the cut on my arm.

I flinch away from his touch, but there’s nowhere to go.

“Don’t touch me.”

“Infection would be unfortunate,” the older man speaks so nonchalantly as if he’s commenting on the weather.

“Regardless of what you think, we have no desire to cause you unnecessary harm. My only desire is to bring down Richard and Patricia. From what I have seen in surveillance footage, you might feel the same way. We can work together on this.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” I mutter, wincing as the antiseptic stings my cut.

The younger man works efficiently, clinical in his movements. No unnecessary touching, no threatening gestures. Just the impersonal care of someone maintaining valuable property.

“You’ve discovered quite a bit about the Hayes family secrets,” the older man comments while watching me carefully. “Impressive research.”

I say nothing. I know they’ve been watching me through Arson, but have they been watching me in other ways? Following me around campus, hacking into my laptop? Thinking about the lengths they might go to get what they want… makes my skin crawl.

“The offshore accounts. The board manipulations. Medical facility irregularities.” He ticks them off on his manicured fingers. “All threads in a very tangled web. But of course I’ve known about most of that for some time.”

Mother always said knowledge is power, but only if you control who has access to it. I’ve spent time and stress gaining this knowledge. It’s unsettling to have someone else read my hand so easily.

“Sounds like you know everything. What do you want from me?” I ask, trying to keep my voice level.

“Information. Clarification. Your perspective.”

“On what?”

“The Hayes empire. Its vulnerabilities. Pressure points.” He leans forward slightly. “Its heirs.”

And there it is. The twins. That’s what they’re after.

“I don’t know anything,” I lie.

“Miss Hayes.” His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “We both know that’s not true. You’ve been rather intimately involved with both Hayes men, haven’t you?”

My cheeks heat despite my best efforts to ignore the images flashing in my mind.

The implication hangs in the air, heavy and humiliating.

Is nothing private anymore? Some part of me had hoped that maybe they weren’t watching the intimacy I had shared with Arson and Aries.

A fat chance that was. They need to know everything, so of course they’d be monitoring everything.

“I don’t think what I do or don’t do with either of them is any of your business.”

“On the contrary. It’s very much our business.” He crosses one leg over the other, perfectly at ease. “You see, we’ve invested considerable resources in this venture. And now you’ve become, well, a complicating factor.”

The younger man finishes bandaging my arm and steps back, disposing of the bloodied gauze with meticulous care. His movements—precise and practiced—remind me of a doctor’s. Or maybe a butcher’s.

“I didn’t ask to be involved in any of this,” I point out. At least not with these assholes.

“Yet here you are. By choice, I might add.” The older man’s gaze is penetrating, seeing too much. “You could have walked away when you discovered the truth. Instead, you chose to help Arson destroy your family.”

“They’re not—” I stop myself, but it’s too late.

“Not what, Miss Hayes? Not your family?” His expression shifts, interest sharpening. “An interesting perspective, don’t you think? Care to elaborate?”

I press my lips together, mentally kicking myself. Never volunteer information. Another one of Mother’s rules.

“Don’t worry. We know that the Hayes family has many secrets,” he continues when I don’t respond. “Some buried deeper than others. Your mother has been particularly… creative in her recordkeeping.”

My heart skips a beat.

Are they referring to my mother’s files?

The ones I found hidden in the attic. The ones that led me down this rabbit hole in the first place.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” My response is too quick, and I mentally kick myself.

“I think you do.” He leans forward, elbows on his knees. “I think you’ve known for some time that all is not as it seems in the illustrious Hayes household. That certain… truths have been obscured.”

There’s something in his tone, something probing and expectant. Like he’s waiting for me to connect dots I can’t yet see.

“Why do you need me?” I ask, changing tactics. “If you’re backing Arson, if you want the Hayes empire destroyed, why involve me at all? I’m not even a true Hayes, only by marriage.”

“Insurance,” the younger man says, speaking for the first time in minutes. “Leverage.”

“Against who? Arson? Aries?”

“Against anyone who might deviate from the plan,” the older man says smoothly. “Including ourselves.”

That doesn’t make sense.

Why would they need leverage against themselves?

Unless...

“You’re not just Arson’s backers,” I realize slowly. “You have your own agenda.”

A flicker of approval crosses the older man’s face. “Very good, Miss Hayes.”

“What is it? What do you want?”

“Justice,” he says simply. “Restitution. Correction of certain… historical inequities.”