Page 22 of The Tower

I sag a little, realizing that my legs are trembling. Not surprising since I’ve barely eaten a bite today. Combine that with adrenaline and Liam Grimm, and it’s no wonder I’m unsteady.

“All right,” I say, forcing myself to keep my chin up and look him in the eye. “I accept your condition.”

“You’ll obey me?”

I give the slightest tilt of my chin, then meet his eyes, daring him to make me say it out loud. To my surprise, he doesn’t. Instead, he gestures for me to take a seat in a plush armchair before heading to a bar on the far side of the room.

He looks back at me over his shoulder. “I believe your drink is Scotch?”

“I—yes. But how—?” I let the question hang there. Right then, I’m not sure I can handle the answer. Because as far as the world is concerned, I only drink white wine—and only at formal dinners or special events, like tonight’s gala.

That, of course, is my father’s depiction of me. In reality, Ruby and I discovered a love of Scotch when we were seventeen and she decided to start smuggling in various alcohols so we could try them out.

“Glenfiddich 50-Year-Old,” he says, handing me a glass with the golden liquid and a single ball of ice. It’s a label I’d seen in my father’s liquor cabinet, and I’d been curious enough to look it up. So I know that a bottle costs upwards of thirty grand. It’s amazing how much mundane information you can learn from the Internet when you live your life inside a gilded cage.

Despite the content of my father’s bar, I’ve never had anything more expensive than the Dewars that Ruby smuggles in. How could I, since I have hardly any money of my own? Why would I need it, not being able to go into the world without an escort?

I lift the glass, eager to taste this rarefied treat, and not at all surprised that a man like Liam Grimm has such a bottle. He settles back into his chair, watching me in a way that makes this moment feel like a test. I take a casual sip and almost moan. It’s like I’m drinking liquid gold.

“Better than Dewars, isn’t it?”

“How did you⁠—?”

I cut off my question. I’m a quick study. Apparently, Grimm is, too. And it’s clear he’s been studying me.

He moves to the window. I watch as he taps the control on his watch. Immediately, the glass shifts back to transparent. Even from across the room, I feel the pressure of that emptiness against the glass.

He looks over his shoulder at the dark and deadly vista, standing so close I’m terrified the glass will fall away and he’ll be sucked out into the night.

Then his attention returns to me, and he holds out his hand. “Come here.”

Oh, hell no. I shake my head, my breath catching as cold tendrils of fear twist inside me.

“I thought we were clear about your position here. I say jump—you ask how high.”

I shake my head again.

“Very well. I’ll call your father. He can pick you up at the entrance to the garage.”

“You bastard.” My words are only a whisper, but they are heavy with loathing.

“I’ve been called worse. Now come here.”

It’s anger that pushes me to my feet. It’s fear that keeps me from moving.

He crosses to my side. “Two steps. Hold on to me.”

He takes my arm. I jerk it roughly away. “Prick.”

“You’re pissed? Good. Use it. Use it to fight your fear.”

“You goddamn, sanctimonious asshole,” I snap, turning so that I’m not only facing him, but so my back is to that terrifying void. “Why are you doing this? Do you just want to humiliate me? What the hell do you want from me?”

Panic rises in my chest as tears flood my eyes, making my vision blur. But not so much that I miss the tiny bit of sympathy that crosses his stone-chiseled features. It’s gone in an instant, so quickly I might have imagined it. But I didn’t.

It doesn’t erase the fear. It doesn’t make me trust him. But it does calm me. A little bit, anyway.

“It won’t suck you in,” he whispers, and I tense, shocked that he understands how I feel. And the truth is, he’s right. I know he’s right. I know perfectly well that I’m safe. That the glass won’t fall away. That I won’t be sucked into the dark.