Page 83 of The Tower

He stands, all lean muscle and sinew, but it’s the distance in his eyes that sends a sense of foreboding tumbling through me. The connection that burned so hot just moments ago now feels fragile, as if he’s already miles away.

“Get some sleep,” he says, his voice casual, detached. None of the intensity from moments ago remains. “You’ll need it.”

I blink, confused by the sudden shift. “Liam⁠—”

“We have work to do tomorrow,” he cuts me off, already gathering his clothes. “Plans to make.”

There’s something deliberate in how he’s not looking at me now, how he’s pulling his mask back on—that cold, calculating expression I saw when we first made our deal.

He pauses at the door, finally glancing back at me, still sprawled naked and disheveled on the bed. Something flashes in his eyes—hunger, possession, I don’t know. And before I can figure it out, he’s locked it away.

“Don’t get too comfortable with this, Princess,” he says, his voice deceptively soft. “I decide when. I decide how. Remember that.”

Then he’s gone, shutting the door behind him, leaving me alone with the cooling sheets and the lingering scent of sex in the air.

I stare at the ceiling, trying to make sense of what just happened. How can something that felt so real, so raw and true, turn cold so quickly? I wrap my arms around myself, suddenly feeling every inch of the space he’s put between us.

Whatever this is between us—whatever we’re becoming—it’s clearly scaring him as much as it scares me. But he gets to back away. To toss up walls.

Me? I’m trapped by our deal. By my need for his protection.

And by the growing, terrifying feeling that despite everything, I want more from Liam Grimm than just safety.

I want all of him.

And that’s the most dangerous desire of all.

Twenty-Six

Hunger Games

The next few days blend together as I spend most of my time. drafting my affidavit for the attorneys, incorporating the medication timeline, my memories, my fears and phobias. It’s rough work, but cathartic as well, and I frequently find myself lost in my memories, and silently celebrating how much stronger I am now.

When I’m not working on evidence for the hearing, I find myself charting time by small changes—the way the afternoon light slants across the kitchen island, the changing hum of traffic outside, even the hours when Grimm disappears into his office and I hear only a whisper of his voice as he makes call after call.

Today, Grimm surprises me by suggesting we venture outside. “Just to the street market,” he says, watching me carefully. “It’s only a block away.”

I nod, determined not to show how my heart races at the thought. Dr. Chen told me that my agoraphobia and my fear of heights might dissipate once I was through withdrawal. But it’s equally possible that they aren’t artifacts of the drugs but of my trauma. Seeing my mother fall to her death. Being abandoned in the forest.

There’s just no way to know.

Right now, the world seems both too vast and too close, and I only agree after Grimm promises that he’ll not only stay beside me, but he’ll hold my hand the entire time.

That negotiation settled, he passes me sunglasses and a ballcap, and I put them on, feeling more foolish than clandestine. Still, the disguise is necessary. My face is all over the city, plastered across billboards for Reed Cosmetics.

The market is a treasure chest of scents and sounds. I stay close to Grimm’s side, my fingers brushing his arm when someone passes too close. Each time, his eyes find mine, and I see something dark and hungry flickering there before he looks away.

We don’t buy any trinkets, but we do return to the loft with tomatoes and peppers and a loaf of fresh bread. Then I sit at the kitchen table and watch in a state of shock and awe as he makes homemade pasta sauce from the wares we’ve brought home. Not only does he chop and sauté and do all the other culinary things that I’m not familiar with, but the end product tastes amazing.

Not that he cooks every night. Instead, our nascent routine consists mostly of ordering takeout, then watching a movie on the massive screen that descends from the ceiling with the press of a button. During the day, he does whatever a cybersecurity person does, and I read or tuck myself away in the yellow room to visit Elysium.

What we don’t do is have sex, though he insists I sleep in his bed every night. Not that I take much convincing. He hasn’t touched me since the day Dr. Chen told us about Project Recall, and while I’d like to be an icon for women everywhere, the truth is that I keep expecting him to take payment for our deal—and I’m embarrassingly disappointed every night when he doesn’t.

Which, of course, sends me straight to Elysium and into Killiam’s virtual arms. A girl can only take so much.

“He’s playing you,” Ruby says, one afternoon when our avatars are hanging out together in Elysium’s Crystal Garden.

“I shouldn’t care,” I say. “I mean, it’s Liam Grimm. The man who spent a significant portion of his life being a huge asshole around me.”