I try to laugh, but it comes out a cough. “So, what happens to people like me?”
Briar’s eyes crinkle at the corners. “Usually, they’re erased.” He says it with the casual tone of someone discussing dessert options. “That’s my job in the wheel of power.”
He takes my hand again. “Come.”
I could fight, but I follow, allowing him to lead me up a staircase until we hit the third floor. He heads down a hall, through a door that reveals a penthouse type of suite and through the glass doors. It’s chilly outside, but the view is breathtaking.
The air is thinner up here, or maybe it’s just the way he fills it. I make a fist with my free hand to keep from shaking.
“So why am I still standing here?” I say. I want it to sound brave, but I think I miss.
He glances down at my hand, still clenched. “Because I haven’t decided what to do with you yet.”
There’s a hum in my chest, equal parts terror and exhilaration.
I take a breath, and the words come out before I can stop them. “Does this conversation end with you throwing me off the balcony, or…?”
He looks down, over the railing, then back at me. “That would be too public.”
The silence that follows is the longest of my life. My heart hammers, loud and wet, and my skin is clammy under the suit.
He steps in, closer than before, and lowers his voice. “You’re not as easy to read as I expected.”
I shrug, because if I move, I’ll run. “I’m just a numbers guy.”
Briar’s hand finds my jaw, fingers warm and steady. He tilts my face up, studies my eyes like he’s checking for a pulse. For one heartbeat, I think he might actually kiss me, but instead he traces a thumb across my cheek and let’s go.
He says, “You have beautiful eyes.” The words don’t sound like flattery, more like inventory.
I say, “Yours are better.” And instantly regret it, because it sounds dumb and childish.
He laughs, low and soft. “You’re quite something, aren’t you?”
“Uhhh, maybe. I don’t really know what you want from me, to be honest. One minute I think you’re gonna kill me and the next you look at me like you want to devour me.”
For a second, I think I’ve said the wrong thing, but Briar’s expression shifts. He seems almost pleased.
He leans in again, lips near my ear. “That’s the part holding me back from snapping your neck.”
“You still haven’t told me your name,” I stutter.
He considers, then says, “Briar Harrington.”
It sucks the air from my lungs. I recognize the surname from the press releases, the board meetings, the filings I’ve been digging through for weeks. My mind runs down a list of possible connections, most of them dangerous.
He sees the recognition, and his mouth curves. “Now you know.”
I try to step back, but his hand holds me in place.
Briar whispers, “Don’t look so scared. If I wanted to hurt you, I’d have done it already.”
“That’s not reassuring,” I say.
He laughs again, and it’s almost—almost—kind. “You’re wondering why you’re still alive.”
It’s not a question, but I nod.
He reaches up, and removes my mask. For a second, I’m naked. I want to snatch it back, but Briar just turns it over in his hands, studying the cheap elastic, the smudge of paint on the left cheek. “Homemade?” he asks.
