Page 44 of The Tower

The helicopter lurches upward, the sudden acceleration pressing me into my seat. One of the attackers drops to one knee as he aims his gun at the pilot’s compartment. The pilot must see him, because the helicopter banks sharply, rolling sideways just as Grimm slams the door shut. Through the window, I see more men burst onto the roof, a few getting off more shots as we speed away.

“They were trying to disable the helicopter, not hit us,” Grimm says, his voice tight. “Your father wants you back—undamaged merchandise.”

My heart is pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat, adrenaline surging through me in a heady rush. I’ve never felt so terrified or so alive.

My stomach lurches as we rise into the night sky. Manhattan spreads below us, a glittering carpet of lights that makes my head spin, though not as much as I’d anticipated. The helicopter is like a cocoon, holding me close and safe.

That’s what I tell myself, anyway. But deep down I know the real balm is the safe and solid presence of Liam Grimm beside me.

“You’re doing well,” he says into the headset, and while I hate that he already knows my weaknesses so intimately, my cheeks warm from the praise.

We move swiftly over the city, and though I don’t look out of our safe little capsule, I can’t help but enjoy the motion. It reminds me of a dream I’d once had about Elysium in which Vale and Prince Killiam escaped a bounty hunter on the back of Ember.

He’d nestled her—me—in front of him, one arm wrapped around my waist, the other resting loosely on my thigh, his roaming fingers finding soft skin when the wind made my tattered skirt flutter.

His lips teased my ear as his fingers stroked the soft places between my legs, and when the dragon rolled down, down, down toward the castle below, I didn’t know if it was the thrill of the flight or the prince’s touch that had my body shaking in a way that probably looked like torture but felt like heaven.

There’s a crackle of static in my headphones, then “—coming.”

I tense, my cheeks burning, and I miss the next words. “What? What did you say?”

“I said we’re coming in for a landing.”

“Oh.” I relax, feeling foolish. And strangely disappointed.

Soon, we’re settled on a helipad near Wall Street, and the moment the pilot gives us the go-ahead, Grimm frees us of the safety belts and helps me out. And while it may be my imagination, I think his hands linger on my waist at least one moment longer than necessary.

I tell myself it doesn’t matter. That despite the random fantasy, I want nothing from Grimm but his help and protection.

But try as I might, I just don’t believe it.

Night has fallen completely now, and the cool concrete beneath my bare feet is a shock after the warmth of the copter.

“Stay close,” Grimm murmurs, and I nod, shaking off my lingering fantasies as I remember why we’re on the run.

We hurry from the heliport, and I almost cheer when Grimm flags down a cab almost instantly. Turns out that fleeing from your prick of a father is best done in shoes.

Inside the cab, he orders the driver to take us to Grand Central, then pulls me close against his side. I lean in, relishing the sense of being protected, just the way I know that Killiam will always protect Vale.

Except this isn’t a fantasy world, and Grimm isn’t protecting me because he wants me. What he wants is to destroy my father. And I’m his weapon of mass destruction.

As the cab merges into traffic, I start to pull away, but Grimm draws me closer. “I’m going to assume they’ve marked us,” he whispers, and I shiver, but whether from trepidation or the feel of his breath on my skin, I truly don’t know.

“It’s okay,” he continues, apparently noticing the way I’d trembled. “We’ll lose them again.” He puts his finger under my chin and tilts my head up to face him. “Trust me,” he says, his voice full of heat and power. “I promise I’ll get you safely away.”

I start to tell him that I do trust him, but before I say anything, he flashes a lopsided smile. “You’re my secret weapon, Sasha. The magic bullet to take down Victor Reed.”

I nod, forcing a smile. And hating the unpleasant truth that I can’t escape and that only I can see—that I want to be more than Grimm’s weapon or Father’s bargaining chip.

But some part of me knows that will never change. I was raised to be used. And the truly sad truth? I’m not sure I know any other way to live.

At Grand Central, we blend into the evening crowd, though I catch several curious glances aimed at my bare feet. “Brooklyn,” he says, ushering me onto a crowded train. We stand pressed together in the crush of bodies, his front to my back, his arm around my waist. I can feel his breath on my neck, and it sends shivers down my spine that have nothing to do with the fear.

Two stops later, he pulls me off the train, leaving the phone he’d taken from me on an empty seat.

I laugh. “If they track it, the signal will lead them in the wrong direction.”

The corner of his mouth curves up. “Maybe you are more than just a pretty face on one of Reed’s shitty ads.”