Page 17 of The Tower (Billionaire Brothers Grimm #1)

Eleven

Possession

I jolt awake, then sag back when I remember I’m safe. Or, at least, that I’m safe from my father.

For the moment, anyway.

I’d closed the blinds before sliding into my nap, and now I look around the near-black room for a clock.

No such luck.

With a small sigh, I roll to the side table and switch on the lamp. I’d intended to grab my phone to check the time, but I remember that Grimm took it.

Frustrated, I toss the sheets aside and sit up. Liam Grimm may have rescued me from my father—and, yes, I might be having some scattered fantasies—but that changes nothing. He’s still the enemy. I’m nothing to him. And I need to keep that one simple fact firmly in my mind.

I stand slowly, my body feeling both leaden and strangely weightless. My head starts to throb, but I can already tell that my thoughts have been getting clearer and clearer the last couple of days.

My father has been drugging me. My own father.

There’s a control panel built into the bedside table, and I press the middle button. I stiffen as the blinds rise, but the bed is between me and the unknown void, keeping me safe.

Based on the dim, golden light that fills the room, I’m guessing that it’s early evening, which means I’ve slept for hours.

Dr. Chen would say that’s a good thing. And my headache does seem to have faded.

I move slowly toward the bathroom, noting the fuzzy, itchy way my skin feels, and the way the floor tilts slightly beneath my feet.

Detox , I tell my reflection once I’m safely at the bathroom counter.

It’s all part of the detox/withdrawal/getting-the-hell-over-it process, which means this weirdness is a good thing.

I fill the glass with water, down it, then repeat that process three times. I’m not particularly thirsty, but if I can wash away the crap my father shoved into me, then all the better.

Next, I splash some on my face, then meet my own eyes. “You’ve got this,” the girl in the mirror says. “You’ll get through this. You’ll be free.”

And the girl in the mirror is right.

But I can’t help but wonder if she’s talking about withdrawal … or about the deal she made with the devil.

I close my eyes, not liking the way my thoughts are bouncing. When I open them again, it’s not me I see reflected in the mirror. It’s my mother.

I blink, and she’s gone. Just like the day she died. One moment she was there. The next moment, there was only the void.

A single tear trickles down my cheek, and I brush it away.

What would she think of me now, trading one gilded cage in a tower for another? Escaping one powerful man’s control for the lair of another who might prove even more dangerous? Am I a fool? A masochist? A naive little princess, just as my father has always said?

No. It was the right choice.

The only choice.

I hurry out of the bathroom, leaving that lost, uncertain girl to her own devices. Me, I’m going to get dressed, go out into the living room, and be the calm and confident woman I am. Or, at least, that I want to be.

I’d taken off only my leggings before my nap, so I pull them back on, draw a breath, then march out of the room to go find Grimm.

The windows in the open area are still opaque, but the lights are on, so I can easily see that Grimm isn’t here.

I call his name, and when I get no answer, I consider exploring the rest of the apartment.

But the possibility of finding him in some dark back room stops me.

Instead, I head to the refrigerator for a bottle of water.

That’s where I find a note that says only Errands. Back soon. LG.

It’s a strange sensation being alone in the apartment of this man who is both helping me and holding me hostage. A man who seems to know more about my life than I know myself. Especially since I barely know him at all.

Maybe now’s my chance to find out.

For the next half hour, I prowl Liam’s apartment like a caged animal, inspecting everything, searching for … what? Clues about the man to whom I’ve entrusted my life? Weaknesses in my new gilded cage? Escape routes I have no intention of using?

Or maybe I’m trying to distract myself from the lingering headache and the random tremors in my hands.

The apartment is minimalist but luxurious, all sleek surfaces and sharp angles.

No photographs. No personal touches. Not even a grocery list. He mentioned a home in Connecticut, and I wonder if it’s warmer.

The place he truly lives. I think it must be.

Liam Grimm is a lot of things, but sterile isn’t one of them.

Besides, would he have left me alone in a place where I might stumble across a secret?

Definitely not.

Still, I’m enjoying my exploration. In the study, I find a bit of heaven—an entire wall of bookcases, every inch taken up by hardbacks and paperbacks, classics and popular fiction.

One long shelf is dedicated entirely to leather-bound volumes of Grimm’s fairy tales.

I’m not surprised—the original Brothers Grimm are his ancestors—but I am curious.

I pull a volume off the shelf and skim the pages, quickly realizing that these aren’t the sanitized versions mothers read to their children.

These are the original tales—dark, bloody, and unrepentant.

A cold recognition stirs in me. Children abandoned in forests, maidens imprisoned in towers, girls falling into voids to emerge in a different world.

Bargains and sacrifices. Just like mine.

I replace the book, then hug myself as I take two steps toward the study’s window.

This one isn’t blocked out like the living room, and I take a deep breath, then force myself to move one step closer, then closer still, until I’m only three arm-lengths away.

Manhattan spreads out beyond the glass, glowing in the approaching twilight.

The view is dizzying, and as the familiar tightness creeps into my chest, I clench my hands into fists and force myself to stay put and keep my eyes open. How much of my fear is real? How much has been manufactured by years of what my father has been telling me?

And does it even matter? Either way, the terror is inside me.

“Enjoying the view?”

I yelp as I whip around—my heart pounding—to find him standing in the doorway. “I’m sorry,” I say. “I didn’t mean to snoop. I was just—well, yeah. Actually, I did mean to snoop.”

“I see,” he says, his expression giving nothing away. “Learn anything interesting?”

“Your decorator likes contemporary. And you’re a fan of Stephen King.”

The corner of his mouth twitches. “Is that all?”

“The romance novels surprised me.”

His expression hardens. “They belonged to my mother. One of her friends sought me out and gave them to me years ago.”

“Oh.” I look down at the floor, then slide my hands into my pockets before looking back up at him. “Hopefully, I’m also about to learn that curiosity didn’t really kill the cat.”

I can’t read his expression at all, and I hold my breath until he says, very softly, “The cat’s safe for now.” He turns away, heading out of the room. “Come on, kitty. Let’s get you some kibble.”

I grimace as I follow him to the kitchen. “I really am sorry. I woke up and?—”

“It’s fine. I set no rules.” His eyes meet mine. “At least, not about looking around. But defy me in any way that matters, and you’ll find yourself back with your father in a heartbeat. Do you understand?”

I swallow, then nod.

“I’m glad we’re on the same page.” He gestures for me to take a seat at the kitchen island, then opens a white bag.

Immediately, the smell of warm bread and fried beef hits me, and I stifle a moan.

Or, I try to. From the way he looks back at me over his shoulder with a grin, I think my moan may have been a bit over the top.

“Fan of the burger?”

“More like an admirer from afar,” I admit. “My diet’s pretty restricted.”

“I’m aware. Want to stick to that? Or do you want to taste the forbidden?” He’s looking right at me, something in his eyes suggesting the question is about more than a burger.

“Forbidden, please,” I say, dropping my gaze. “Forbidden with fries.”

He chuckles, then passes me a wrapped burger loaded with cheese and a sleeve of French fries.

I’ve just taken my first bite of cheesy, beefy heaven when he slides a large envelope onto the counter.

“What’s that?” I ask, wishing he’d brought a milkshake, too. That would have been so very extra.

“Your father’s first parry in our little war.”

I drop the burger, all thoughts of fries and milkshakes and cheeseburgers evaporating as I jump off the stool and take two steps back.

“It won’t bite you,” he says. “Not literally, anyway.”

“What is it?”

“Open and see.”

I want to shake my head and back away slowly.

Instead, I take a deep breath, then pull the envelope toward me.

I open the flap, then reach inside and pull out a thin stack of legal documents.

My stomach goes queasy as I read the cover letter on the familiar stationery of Beckett & Stein, my father’s attorneys.

“ Ex parte Emergency Relief? Temporary guardianship?” I drop the papers as if they’re infectious. “Is this what I think it is?”

“That depends. If you think your father got the court to temporarily appoint him as your guardian, then yes.”

“A guardian? I’m almost twenty-seven years old. He can’t do that.”

Grimm’s face is hard. “He can if he can prove you’re mentally unfit. Incapable of managing your own life. Unstable. Vulnerable. A danger to yourself. Any one of those and he’s in.”

“But I’m not any of those things. Am I ?”

Grimm meets my eyes, his like ice. “You aren’t,” he says firmly, though I’m not sure I believe him. “But if your father can make you look broken enough, the court will hand him the keys.”

“But this says he’s my guardian now. As in right now.”

“It does. Yes. A process server was waiting at the entrance to the garage on my way back.”

“But that doesn’t explain how he did this. I mean, doesn’t the court need to—oh, ask me questions?”