Page 20 of The Tower (Billionaire Brothers Grimm #1)

I start to snap out that considering it’s my damn phone, he should be nicer. But I’m in a subway station in the middle of Manhattan with no phone, no money, no shoes, and a growing headache that I’m sure is part of my withdrawal. Or maybe just fear coupled with frustration.

Either way, best not to piss off my protector, captor, tormentor … whatever the hell Grimm is.

By the time we’ve switched trains five more times, I’m exhausted, and my filthy feet are aching. Finally, Grimm announces that we’ve arrived, and I look up to see that we’re at Times Square. We climb the stairs to exit the station and emerge into the glow and bustle of the Theater District.

“How much further?” I ask, wincing as I step on something sharp.

“Just a few blocks. Here,” he adds as he scoops me into an over-the-shoulder fireman’s carry, his hand on my ass to keep me steady.

“Dammit, Grimm! Put me down.” He doesn’t. If anything, he increases the pressure against my rear. I open my mouth to protest, then close it again, telling myself that my very abused feet need the break.

The easiest lies are the ones you tell yourself.

All too soon, we’re several blocks from the station on a quiet street lit by the golden glow of streetlamps. Grimm eases me down, my body sliding against his before my feet touch the ground.

My pulse races and I’m having trouble catching my breath, but I tell myself it’s all because of our situation. Because we’re too exposed here on this dark little street.

I feel exposed, all right. But it has nothing to do with my father’s search parties.

My mind is in such a muddle that it takes me a second to realize that we’re standing in front of the entrance to the Renfort Inn.

A doorman seems to materialize from the shadows, and we step off the street into quiet opulence.

This is the kind of tucked-away hotel that caters to the very rich.

The kind that places privacy and discretion well above the thread count on their Egyptian sheets.

At the reception desk, Grimm pays in cash. If the clerk notices my I’m-a-pauper bare feet, he doesn’t show it. Most likely he’s too well-trained to comment on what might be some sort of dominant/submissive game we’re playing.

My stomach twists. Oh, god. Is this a dominant/submissive game we’re playing?

I force myself to shove down that ridiculous and terrifying thought.

And intriguing …

Except it isn’t. I may lead a sheltered life, but I have windows to the world. Ruby. Elysium. The very wide world of streaming television and the deep dark world of the Internet.

I’ve been controlled enough—used enough— by my father. The idea of what little power I have being taken by anyone is enough to make my stomach twist.

Once we’re in the elevator, Grimm puts me down gently. I stand close to the door and face forward, afraid that if I face Grimm, he’ll read my thoughts all over my face. He’s been kind enough since we struck our deal, but that doesn’t change the fact that I still owe him everything .

And now that we’re in this discrete little hotel, I can’t stop worrying about what exactly that will mean.

I focus on the elevator door seam as Grimm steps behind me, then slips his hand up the back of my simple tee.

His palm is warm, and though I expect him to stroke my skin, he doesn’t move.

Our only contact is the warmth of his skin on my lower back and the whisper of his breath against my hair.

And that simple touch is wildly, painfully erotic. And more than a little terrifying.

The low whirr of the elevator’s motor competes with the beat of my heart, so intense now that I’m sure Grimm must hear it. Or feel it reverberate through me. I try to take shallow breaths, try to ignore the way his touch seems to simmer through me.

But I can’t. All I can think of is Prince Killiam’s touch.

The tender way he strokes Vale’s cheek, his fingers soft along her skin.

The way his fingers tease her nipples before sliding down her belly, all the way to the heat of her core between her legs.

The dirty things he whispers about filling Vale’s cunt with his hard cock, about sucking on her tits.

The way he promises to fuck her hard—to take her to the edge and then make her beg before finally, finally , letting her over.

But only if she’s a very, very good girl.

And then the way he does every single thing he’s promised, so that Vale— so that I —comes so hard it’s almost painful.

Stop it!

That’s all just fantasy. I can’t let myself slide into Elysium. Not in cyberspace or in my mind. Especially not now that I know that Elysium’s integrated AI—that vicious little twerp—slipped a heaping dose of Liam Grimm into Prince Killiam.

Mostly, I need to remember that the man I’m with is only helping me because he wants to shut down my father. I’m a means to his end, just as he is to mine.

Just as we’d agreed when he smuggled me from the gala. That moment when my agreement to everything sealed that deal.

I hug myself as the elevator doors part.

I’d been so lost in thought that I hadn’t noticed the car stopping.

Now, Grimm’s hand presses against my back, and I burst forward, so eager to escape his distracting touch that I almost fall flat on my face.

He catches me by the elbow and steadies me—rendering my escape plan useless.

“I’m fine,” I snap, tugging my arm free. “Just tired. It’s been a day.”

“It has,” he says as the elevator closes, leaving me alone in the hall with him, the air around us thick with anticipation. And much, much warmer than it should be.

There’s only one suite on this floor, and I follow Grimm to the ornate door, then wait for him to unlock it since, of course, I wasn’t issued a key.

He ushers me in ahead of him, and I glance around at the elegantly decorated space. It’s full of perfectly placed designer pieces, yet it feels impersonal. As if this is a stage, not a room.

Appropriate, I suppose, since I’m not living the life I know anymore.

And I’m not sure whose life I am living.

A young woman running from an abusive father?

A girl who’s never been able to cope in the vastness of the world, now tossed into the middle of it with a man she’s both hated and crushed on for years as her only anchor?

Or maybe—just maybe—I’m a girl who’s finally decided to do whatever it takes to free herself from the chains that bind her, even if that means making a deal with the devil himself.

After all, isn’t the devil supposed to be beautiful and charming and seductive?

If that’s the case, then I really have slid into hell.

But whether or not I stay here …

Well, I guess that’s up to me.