Page 10 of The Tower (Billionaire Brothers Grimm #1)

Seven

Revelations

“ W hat game are you playing?” I ask after I’m seated again and have taken one—actually, two—more sips of the Scotch. “Why do you even care if I can walk toward your windows?”

“It’s not me who’s playing games with you,” he says. “That would be your father.”

I want to argue out of principle, but, of course, he’s right.

“As for why I care …” He trails off with a small shrug. “The truth is, I’ve watched you for years.”

I lean back, startled by the statement.

“I’ve seen what your father has done,” he continues, his tone so icy my body feels chilled. “The mind games he’s played with you.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Has anyone ever talked to you about the way your mother died?”

“My mother?” The words feel like ground glass, and my eyes sting as I blink back tears. “Who the hell are you to ask about my mother when your father is the one who murdered her?”

“That’s a lie you shared with the entire world three years ago,” Grimm says.

I shake my head, fighting off his words. “It wasn’t a lie. I was there. I saw what happened.”

“You did, yes. But you told the world a lie.”

“You’re insane.”

He shakes his head, his words coming hard and fast like gunfire, and just as brutal. “My father is a bastard who couldn’t even buy his way into heaven and will give Satan a run for his money when he waltzes into Hell. But he didn’t kill your mother.”

His words land like a slap. Sharp. Unexpected.

“Don’t,” I whisper. “Don’t you dare.” My voice is steady, but my hands aren’t. “I saw what he did. I saw him push her. I saw?—”

The words break apart somewhere between memory and breath. I turn away, blinking fast. My fingers swipe at the tears before they can fall.

I don’t want to go there. Not now. Not with him.

But the edges of that day are pressing in—the roof, the scream, my mother’s body swallowed by the void. My father’s arms around me. His voice thick with tears, just like my own.

I believed him. Of course, I had. Because that was the one story that made sense. And her loss is the only thing I’ve ever shared with my father. The one thing that has ever given me even the tiniest hint of closeness with him.

Now Liam Grimm wants to tear even that from me?

I turn back, forcing the words out as tears trickle down my cheeks. “You don’t get to rewrite what happened.”

Grimm doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. Just watches me with that maddening calm. Like he knows what he just cracked open.

Like he’s waiting to see if it breaks me. But I can’t afford to crumble around this man. Not when I don’t even understand what I’ve agreed to.

That’s why he’s talking about her. That’s what his game is. To break you. To make you smaller than you already are.

“I can’t do this,” I whisper. “I don’t want your help.”

He tilts his head toward the door. “Go. I won’t stop you.”

I stand up, grab my tiny purse off the coffee table, then hurry toward the elevator. I pause just inside the vestibule to open the clutch and make sure my phone and Ruby’s credit card are still there. I can take a taxi. Or the subway. And I know Ruby’s PIN, so I can get cash.

My head pounds, and my mind keeps spinning as I tell myself I can do this.

And as another small voice tells me I’d be an idiot to get into that elevator.

Screw that . I step forward, then press the button to call the car. I glance at the monitor—it’s ten floors away.

I can do this. I can do this.

I can do this .

I even know a hostel where I can crash for a night or two. A model I’d worked with for a Reed Cosmetics campaign had stayed there. The Twenty-Seventh Street Hostel. I’ll go there. Then I’ll make a plan. I’ll get out of New York. Pay cash. Take the train.

And then what?

I turn just enough to look over my shoulder. Grimm is standing in the middle of the room, his back to me as he faces the opaque windows.

I shiver.

Four floors away.

My father will look for me. Grimm will tell him I’m gone. And Father will release his dogs, real and metaphorical. They always find what they’re looking for.

They’ll find me, too.

I close my eyes, hating the bitter truth—with Grimm, I have a chance.

By myself, I’ll be locked in my suite by sunrise.

I’m a fairy tale princess who escaped her tower.

And the evil king will put me there again.

But this time, there will be no visits from Ruby.

No computer. No phone. No canvases and jars of paint. No sketchbook. No Elysium.

Because real fairy tales have dark and scary endings.

Ding .

The elevator doors slide open, and I use the back of my hand to wipe away the tears that have streaked down my cheeks. Then I turn and walk back to the chair I’d vacated. I sit, looking down at my hands, folded primly in my lap.

As if no time has passed at all, I say, “I saw Elias Grimm push her. I saw my father try to save her. But he was too late. She slipped from his fingers.”

I shiver, the memory like ice. “She plummeted into the dark,” I whisper. “And the void consumed her.”

“Is that what you remember? Or is that what your father told you?”

“I remember,” I say. “Of course, I remember.”

“Do you remember what my father was doing on the roof of Reed Tower?”

“No, but I was only seven. It was probably a business thing.”

“Because our fathers did so much business together. On roofs. Without their lawyers present.”

I shake my head, ignoring his dripping sarcasm. “I don’t know. I just know he was there.”

“But how?” Grimm’s voice is surprisingly gentle.

He comes to crouch in front of me. “Victor Reed wouldn’t have invited my father to a hanging, much less his rooftop.

So how did my dear father get past Reed Tower’s security?

Think about it. He couldn’t have made it into the lobby, much less to the roof. We both know that.”

“I told you. I don’t know. I was just a kid.” I want to scream the words. Because why the hell is he interrogating me about something that happened almost twenty years ago? And why does the how matter, anyway? He was there. I saw him. And that was the end of the story.

Wasn’t it?

“For that matter,” Grimm continues, making me want to throw something. “You know there’s no love lost between me and my father.”

I hug myself tighter. I do know that. Gossip runs wild in my father’s circle, and it’s common knowledge that Liam Grimm is the black sheep of the family.

He’s the child of Elias Grimm and a secret lover.

She died, though, and although Marge Grimm let her husband raise the literal bastard, the whole world knows that Liam Grimm is very firmly stuck on the bottom rung of the family ladder.

“My father thinks you’re going to be the next CEO of Lucent. Why else would they have sent you to the shoot?”

“Your father is a fool. A dangerous fool. And my father is a dangerous son-of-a-bitch. That is something I have never denied. So why would I defend him now?” He rises, then paces the room before dragging an ottoman in front of me.

He sits, then leans forward, his elbows on his knees as he says, “Think about it, Princess. If my father murdered your mom, I’d be the first one to say he should be locked in a cell.

” I look down, not wanting to meet his gaze.

I feel twitchy. Confused. I want to curl up with my feet under me, but in this stupid dress, that’s impossible.

“Why are you doing this?” I cringe, hating the needy, weak sound of my voice.

“Why am I telling you the truth? Don’t you think you deserve the truth? Your father damn sure doesn’t.”

“But it’s not …” I trail off, hugging myself, realizing I don’t know what’s true. Not anymore.

“Have you ever read an article accusing Elias Grimm of killing your mother?”

I haven’t. Not one. “I was only seven,” I say.

“But surely you’ve looked since then. Every article says your father tried to pull her back before she jumped. Jumped . Not a mention of my father. Seems odd, doesn’t it?”

I don’t nod. I don’t have to. He knows I can’t argue.

He slides off the ottoman and crouches in front of me again. This time he puts his hands on my armrests, his eyes focused on mine. His proximity makes me feel trapped. Jittery. Strangely aware.

“Your father told you lies, Sasha. You were a traumatized little girl and he told you what to see, over and over and over until it became your truth. But not the truth.”

“Stop,” I beg, then push him back as I force myself to my feet. “Please, please stop.”

His expression is hard, and for a moment, I think he’s going to press more, shoving me back into memories I don’t want and theories I don’t understand.

But then he tilts his head in silent acquiescence as he stands. “Sit back down. I’ll get you something to drink. There are other things we need to talk about.”

He starts to walk away, then pauses to open the ottoman, revealing a compartment full of blankets. He hands me one, and I wrap myself in the soft warmth, strangely grateful.

A few minutes later, he’s back. And though I’d expected more Scotch, this time he offers me a mug of hot cocoa. I sniff, then smile as I take a sip.

Right now, I really do feel safe. I know it won’t last, but it’s real. And for this one fragile moment, it’s mine.

I close my eyes, exhaustion warring with adrenaline and the rattle of unanswered questions.

I drift, Grimm’s accusations twisting around me.

My father is vile, but I know what I saw.

My mother at the edge of the roof looking out at the city lights.

Me sitting on a blanket playing with Kitty, a teal stuffed cat that was my constant companion, gone now, just like so many other happy things I’d had before she died.

And there’s my father standing behind her, giving her one firm shove. My mother going over. My scream renting the night as she plunges forward. My father standing at that murderous edge as he watches her fall and fall and fall while my screams fill the air to bursting.