Page 150 of The Tower

She reached across the table, covering his hand with hers. “But you didn’t.”

“No.” He turned his palm up, intertwining their fingers. “I didn’t.”

A smile flickered on her lips. “So, what should we do?”

The we sent a surge of something warm through his chest. Partnership. Trust. Something he’d nearly thrown away.

“We call the FBI,” he said. “Anonymous tip. Leo’s gathered enough evidence to convince them it’s credible. They can intercept Bane before he gets anywhere near here.”

“And if that doesn’t work?”

“Then we have contingency plans. Together.”

She studied him for a long moment, then smiled. “I’m proud of you.”

Three simple words. Yet they hit him with more force than any praise he’d ever received.

“Don’t get used to it,” he said, the corner of his mouth quirking up. “I still have a reputation to maintain.”

“Your secret’s safe with me.” She stood, tugging him to his feet. “Make the call. I’ll pack a bag, just in case.”

She paused on the way to the bedroom, looking back at him. “Thanks. For trusting me enough to tell me. For understanding that I need to know, too.”

He nodded, something tight in his chest loosening. “Always. From now on. Count on it.”

And as he dialed, Liam realized he’d finally, shaken off that damn need to control everything. The belief that he alone could protect what was his. The truth was, some threats couldn’t be eliminated alone. Some battles were meant to be fought together.

Forty-Five

Home

The gavel comes down with a crack that rings through the courtroom, and I can’t help smiling as Desmond Bane’s face twists with rage. Twelve years, with the possibility of parole after eight. The judge’s words still echo in my ears when Ruby squeezes my hand hard enough to hurt.

“Couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy,” she whispers, and I have to bite my lip to keep from laughing out loud.

Six months have passed since the FBI caught Bane and his goons before they could reach our house in Connecticut. Six months of actually living instead of just surviving. Six months of figuring out who the hell I am when I’m not being controlled by my father or drugged out of my mind.

I glance over at Liam, who hasn’t moved a muscle since the verdict came down. His face is a mask, but I know that look by now—he’s still running the numbers, still wondering if letting the legal system deal with Bane had really been the right call. Still thinking about how close he came to handling it his way.

When the courtroom starts to empty, he turns to me. “You okay?”

“Me? I’m better than okay. Are you?”

His response is a half-shrug.

I take his hand. “It’s over, Liam. Really over.”

“It is,” he says, his voice firm, but I hear what’s hidden underneath. The part of him that will never completely believe that Bane can’t hurt me from behind bars. The part that will always be watching, calculating, ready to do whatever it takes to keep me safe.

I’ve learned to live with that part of him, just like he’s learned to deal with my stubborn independence. It’s our deal—he tries not to control everything, and I try to understand that his overprotectiveness comes from something real and raw and beyond his control.

“Let’s get out of here,” I say, grabbing my bag and standing up. The vultures are waiting outside—I can feel them already, cameras and microphones poised to tear us apart for a story that’ll last less than five minutes on the evening news.

Liam’s hand finds the small of my back, solid and warm. “Ready for the firing squad?”

I nod, squaring my shoulders and fixing my face in what my father always called my “public smile.” I spent my whole life learning how to fake it for the cameras but, it’s only been since he died that I’ve learned that a public smile doesn’t always have to be fake.

The questions hit us like bullets the instant we push through the doors.