Page 97 of He Knows When You're Awake

I taste blood but meet his gaze steadily. “Vault Security 101. Too many failed attempts triggers a lockdown. Pretty standard stuff.”

“Boss,” the other Russian interrupts, examining the scanner. “System also sent an alert signal. To Asher.”

Julian goes utterly still, processing this new information. Then a cold smile spreads across his face. “So he knows we’re here. He knows exactly what we want.” He runs his fingers through his perfectly styled hair, mussing it for the first time. “And yet he’s still not coming. What does that tell you, Sloane?”

This is Cole Asher we’re talking about. The same man who had an entire dossier on me before our first meeting. Who knew my shoe size, my coffee order, and somehow even which side of the bed I prefer to sleep on. The man who flew me to Switzerland just to convince me to sign with his company. Who had a contract drafted before I’d even officially said yes.

Cole doesn’t do anything without a plan. Everything—every gesture, every word, every seeming coincidence—is meticulously calculated. He’s probably known where I am since the moment they took me.

Which means there’s a reason he’s not answering Julian’s increasingly angry phone calls.

“Your little victory means nothing,” Julian says, pacing now, his expensive shoes clicking against the marble floor. “All you’ve done is force a change of plans.”

“And what exactly was the original plan?” I ask, trying to keep him talking. Every minute he spends ranting is another minute for Cole to get here. “Profit off the designs Claire never wanted you to have, steal mine while you’re at it, and... what? Live happily ever after knowing you’ve finally gotten revenge on Cole?”

“Don’t pretend to understand what this is about,” he snaps. “This was never just about the designs.”

“Then what is it about?” I press. “Because from where I’m sitting—literally—this seems like an awful lot of effort just to steal some jewelry.”

His laugh is cold and bitter. “Jewelry? Is that what you think this is? These are more than pretty baubles, Ms. Whitmore. It’s about not letting Cole win.”

Across the room, Julian paces, phone pressed to his ear. His perfectly tailored suit is starting to show signs of wear, his usual composure cracking around the edges. The two Russians exchange worried glances as Julian’s call goes to voicemail for the fifth time.

“Where the hell is he?” Julian snarls, throwing the phone onto an antique desk.

I can’t help it. A small laugh escapes me, drawing their attention. “Would now be a good time to tell you that Cole and I had a huge fight right before you came?” I lean back in my chair, affecting a casual pose despite my bound wrists. “Huge. Breakup type of fight.”

Julian’s eyes narrow as he stalks toward me. “You’re lying.”

I shrug, ignoring how my heart pounds faster with each step he takes. “Maybe he’s just done with all of this.” I force my lips into a smirk. “Can’t say I blame him.”

A muscle twitches in Julian’s jaw. “He wouldn’t—”

“Ignore you?” I arch an eyebrow at him. “Looks like he already is. I guess neither of us is as important to Cole Asher as we thought we were.”

“If he doesn’t care about you anymore,” Julian says, his voicedangerously soft, “then perhaps you’ve outlived your usefulness.” He reaches inside his jacket, pulling out an ornate switchblade. The blade springs open with a soft click that somehow sounds more threatening than any gunshot.

“Boss,” one of the Russians says nervously, “the plan was—”

“The plan has changed.” Julian cuts him off, tracing the knife tip along my collarbone. “No case access means we need a new incentive for Mr. Asher. Perhaps pieces of his girlfriend delivered one by one will motivate him to come out of hiding.”

I try to lean away from the blade, but there’s nowhere to go. A bead of blood wells up where the knife presses against my skin.

“Let’s start with something small,” Julian muses, his eyes never leaving mine. “A finger, perhaps? Or maybe an ear? Artists don’t really need both, do they?”

My heart hammers against my ribs, but I force myself to keep my voice steady. “You do that, and you’ll never get what you want. Cole won’t negotiate if you hurt me.”

“Won’t he?” Julian presses the blade a fraction deeper. “I think you underestimate how much he values you. How much he would sacrifice to keep you whole.”

“Exactly. To keep me whole. He doesn’t want a mutilated girlfriend.”

I watch with satisfaction as uncertainty creeps into Julian’s expression.

“You know him. Has he ever accepted anything less than perfection?”

I think of him decorating a crooked tree. Wrestling his tie out of Havoc’s mouth. He would love me, “mutilated” or not. But that’s not the Cole Julian knows.

The Russians shift uncomfortably, muttering to each other in low voices.