Page 8 of The Reckoning (Oakmount Elite #7)

FIVE

ARSON

T he warehouse echoes with emptiness as I step inside, the heavy door slamming shut behind me with a finality that sets my teeth on edge.

It was a haven, the place I planned my revenge, the first real space that felt like mine.

Now it just feels... empty . My footsteps ricochet off concrete walls, mocking me with their solitary rhythm.

No Lilian rushing to confront me. No captive brother breathing threats from behind reinforced glass.

Just silence. The absence of sound so fucking loud it makes my skin crawl.

I move through the space like a ghost, past the security monitors still displaying the outside feed from the building where Lilian is being held. Where my brother and his dick friend are mounting a rescue as we speak.

If Drew betrays us—betrays her—I’ll gut him with my bare hands.

Slowly. Make him feel every second of it.

The thought does nothing to calm the storm brewing beneath my skin.

I never should have agreed to this arrangement.

Never should have left her fate in someone else’s hands.

But Richard’s call left no room for alternatives—not if I want to maintain my cover, to finish what I started.

Not if I want to save Lilian.

I strip off my clothes with vicious efficiency, dropping them in a careless heap on the warehouse floor. The shower is quick, functional—just enough to wash away the grime of planning and arguing and to reset myself into the role I’ve been playing for months.

Aries Hayes. Golden child. Heir apparent. Beloved son.

The thought alone makes bile rise in my throat.

The suits hang in perfect alignment in the room I set up as my bedroom.

It was never meant to be permanent, but now, when I think about having to leave, it breaks something open in my chest. The closet is fully outfitted.

Not that I’ve needed it much lately, too busy here with Aries and Lilian than out there working to bring down the Hayes empire.

Twenty identical suits, each one hand-tailored to Aries’s former measurements, which are mine now.

Perfect replicas for a perfect replica.

I select one at random, the dark charcoal material smooth under my fingers. Expensive. Quality. Everything the Hayes name represents.

The white shirt feels like a straitjacket as I button it. The collar is too tight despite being custom-made. The tie—crimson, like freshly spilled blood—knots perfectly around my neck. The jacket settles on my shoulders like armor.

The mirror reflects a stranger. A man wearing my face but not my identity. This is the polished, sanitized version of me that never existed. This is the version that never could exist. Not after what I’ve been through. Or what I’ve done.

I tug the jacket sleeves into place, and the material bunches around my elbows, scraping across the scars there.

The sensation shoves me into the memory before I can stop it.

Nylon straps holding me to a hard bed, the nurses’ equally hard eyes as they watched my face while they dosed me with whatever experimental cocktail it would be that time.

That version, that time, sent me into convulsions so hard I almost bit off my own tongue.

Pain rolled through me in white-hot waves until I succumbed to the darkness afterward.

Sometimes that darkness was my only solace.

I tug the jacket again, reminding myself why I’m doing this, and survey my reflection one more time.

Is this what I would have become if Richard hadn’t discarded me? This hollow shell of a man, perfectly dressed, perfectly empty?

I bare my teeth at the reflection, momentarily shattering the illusion. There’s the real me—the feral thing lurking beneath the tailored suit. The monster they created when they locked me away and erased my existence.

It feels wrong to be doing this, to be stepping back into the role while Lilian is in danger. She might be hurt, scared, and wondering where I am and why I haven’t come for her.

But this is the only way forward. The only way to maintain the facade long enough to bring the whole rotten empire crashing down.

The drive to Hayes headquarters is a blur of city lights and racing thoughts. The sleek Range Rover—Aries’s car, now mine—purrs beneath me, another prop in this elaborate performance.

The Tower rises from the downtown skyline like a middle finger to modesty and restraint.

Sixty-eight floors of steel and glass, crowned with the illuminated “H” that’s become synonymous with power in this city.

Not as solid as Drew’s empire, but close.

Drew’s family went straight for the money.

Mine…straight for politics. Power. From certain angles, it looks like a knife stabbing into the sky.

I smile as I think about Richard only managing to keep a floor of it in recent years. His power has steadily waned.

Fitting for a family built on backstabbing.

The underground parking garage recognizes the car’s RFID, and the barriers automatically lift as I approach.

Aries’s designated spot waits near the private elevator—close enough to be convenient for the heir apparent, but not as close as Richard’s.

Another small reminder of the hierarchy and who really matters.

The elevator requires a thumbprint, which should be a problem but isn’t. I secured a card when an “accident” scarred my fingers so they don’t register right anymore. The phantom pain rises, but I squash it down.

As the elevator rises, my stomach drops in inverse proportion. Forty-eight floors up to the executive level. Forty-eight floors closer to the man who threw me away like garbage.

The doors slide open silently, revealing the reception area to Richard’s office suite—all marble and muted lighting, designed to intimidate visitors while appearing welcoming. Corporate doublespeak translated into interior design.

“Mr. Hayes.” The receptionist—young, attractive, carefully selected—smiles with professional warmth. “Your father is expecting you. Go right in.”

Of course he is. Richard Hayes is always expecting something—obedience, excellence, submission. He’s spent a lifetime training Aries to provide all three on command.

Too bad he’s getting me instead.

I straighten my tie, a gesture I’ve seen Aries perform countless times in the footage I studied before taking his place. A nervous tell, one of many I’ve cataloged and replicated. The small details that sell the performance.

Richard’s office door looms ahead, heavy wood imported from some endangered forest somewhere. Because nothing says success like consuming things that can’t be replaced.

I don’t knock. Aries wouldn’t. The entitled don’t announce themselves.

The office beyond is exactly as I remember from my reconnaissance—cavernous, deliberately imposing, with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a God’s-eye view of the city below.

The same as the other few times I’ve been called to perform like a trained monkey for Richard’s board members.

The space is dominated by a desk the size of a small boat, behind which sits the architect of my nightmares.

Richard Hayes.

He doesn’t look up immediately, a power move so transparent it would be laughable if it weren’t so effective. Make them wait. Make them watch. Establish dominance before the conversation even begins.

I’ve studied this man for years, learning his habits, patterns, and weaknesses. Memorized the lines of his face from photographs and video footage. Imagined this confrontation in a thousand different scenarios.

None of them prepared me for the reality of standing in his presence, of breathing the same air as the man who decided I was disposable. I have previously, of course, but not often here…in the seat of his power.

“Aries.” He finally looks up, hazel eyes—my eyes, our eyes—assessing me with clinical precision. “You’re late.”

“Traffic,” I reply, the lie coming easily. Aries would make excuses. Aries would want approval.

I move to the chair across from his desk, forcing my body to adopt the loose-limbed confidence of the privileged. Not too rigid. Not too formal. The casual arrogance of someone who’s never had to fight for their place in the world.

“The Tokyo acquisition,” Richard continues, sliding a folder across the polished desk surface. “The numbers don’t add up.”

I take the folder without opening it. “I thought Westlake was handling the due diligence.”

“They were. They failed.” Richard’s mouth thins with disapproval. “Which is why I need you to take point on this. Fly out tomorrow and sort through the mess they’ve made.”

Tomorrow. Japan. Halfway across the world from Lilian, from the reckoning I’ve set in motion.

Not fucking happening.

“I have commitments here,” I say, careful to keep my tone on the side of respect.”The charity gala for Patricia’s foundation?—”

“Can proceed without you,” Richard cuts in. “This is my priority.”

The casual dismissal, the absolute expectation of compliance—it’s exactly how he’s always operated. How he’s controlled Aries all these years. How he’s built an empire on the backs of people who know better than to say no.

My fingers tighten around the folder, paper crinkling slightly under the pressure. I force them to relax.

“Of course,” I say, the words tasting like ash. “If that’s what you need.” But I sure as fuck won’t be stepping foot out of the city right now.

Richard studies me, head tilted slightly. Something flickers in his expression—curiosity? Suspicion? It’s gone before I can identify it.

“I need my son,” he says, voice softening in a way that sets off alarm bells in my head. “The company needs its future leadership. Especially now, with expansion plans in place.”

The shift in tone—it’s calculated, practiced. Richard doesn’t do genuine emotion. Every display of feeling is tactical, designed to achieve a specific outcome.

“The board meeting?” I prompt, steering away from whatever manipulation he’s setting up.