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“And you’re going to follow it,” he ordered.

“Why? Because everyone else here does?” she asked.

“Yes,” he breathed. The certainty in his answer infuriated her. Grace had spent too much of her life being told what to do by men who believed raising their voices made them right. Her father had done it. Her ex had perfected it. Even Travis had shown flashes of the same arrogance.

“You aren’t my president,” she said.

“No, Grace. I’m the man standing between you and the people outside. That makes me the only person you should be worried about pleasing,” he said. Her pulse jumped. She told herself it was fear. The lie didn’t work any better inside her head than it would have out loud. Grimm was terrifying with his broad shoulders that filled out his black shirt, and the leather cut only emphasized his size. Tattoos disappeared beneath his sleeves and climbed the side of his neck. His face was all sharp angles and hard lines, made more intimidating by the scar cutting through one eyebrow. He looked like the kind of man mothers warned their daughters about. Grace’s mother had certainly warned her. She had simply neglected to mention how difficult it might be to stop staring at one.

“The man said they were going to kill them all,” she admitted.

“What man?” he asked.

“I didn’t catch his name,” she sassed.

“What else do you remember?” he asked.

“That’s about it,” she said.

“You heard someone on the phone talking about the race,” he reminded.

“Yes, after I ran. I hid in another room while security searched the hallway. A man entered and made the call. He said the road would be sealed, and the Rage Runners would be finished before sunrise,” she said.

“Could you identify his voice?” he asked.

“I don’t think so,” she said.

“Was it Travis?” he asked. Grace remembered listening through the bathroom door. The man’s voice had been low and distorted by the music coming from downstairs.

“I don’t know,” she admitted.

“That isn’t a no,” he pointed out.

“I said I don’t know for sure,” she shouted at him.

Grimm stared at her long enough to make her shift beneath his attention. “Did Travis know you took the drive?”

“I never found him,” she said.

“Did you tell anyone where you were going?” he asked.

“No, why would I?” she asked.

He shrugged. “No clue. I’m just wondering how the Vales knew where to find you.”

Grace hadn’t allowed herself to think about that. “I don’t know,” she whispered.

Grimm walked around her. His hands moved through her hair, searching near her scalp. Grace froze as his fingers skimmed the back of her neck. A shiver raced down her spine. “What are you doing?” she whispered.

“Looking for a tracker,” he said.

“I would know if someone put something in my hair,” she insisted.

“Would you?” he asked. He crouched in front of her. The position should have made him less imposing, but it didn’t. Grimm examined the hem of her dress before running his hands down her calves and Grace’s breath caught. His gaze lifted to hers, but he didn’t stop. His palms moved around her ankles and over her bare foot. The touch was clinical, yet her body reacted as if there was nothing impersonal about it. She hated herself a little for that.

“There isn’t anything there,” she said.

“Hold still,” he ordered. He checked the broken strap of her remaining heel. His thumb pressed against a small silver decoration attached beside the buckle, and then he ripped it off.