A Harmless Little Game (Harmless #1)(10)

“And I think of her as a human being who is independent and has her own feelings, thoughts, and reactions. You want her to fit into your plans for the campaign. And she might.”

“She will.”

“Don’t count on it. She’s sharper than you think. always has been. You’ve underestimated her for years. When I saw those medical records—” Drew’s voice breaks off, choked with emotion. “That mental institution just doped her up to shut her up.”

“Dammit, Drew!” Something bangs, hard, like Daddy’s slammed his fist on a table.

“And you can argue all you want, but the bottom line is this: she’s home. I’m glad she’s home. I’m glad she’s out of a place she probably only needed for the first few months, and mostly just to heal outside of the limelight. But you’ve done her no favors keeping her hidden for so long. Between what she’s about to learn about her reputation, and the juicy, vicious gossipmongers who are going to love to get their hands on any tidbit about her, you’ve set Lindsay up for a mess.”

“You done lecturing me?” Daddy’s voice has gone cold and dismissive. It’s the voice of my childhood.

“No,” Drew says casually. His words make me bite back a smile. “It’s bad enough she’s been cloistered for so long. That’s one issue. The other is that she won’t react the way you want her to. And the cat’s out of the bag. You can’t just stuff her back into that institution again.”

“What do you plan to do about that?”

“Me?” Drew’s voice goes up just enough to make me warm up.

“Yes, you. Your job is to control her.”

“My job is to protect her.”

“Same thing.” I hear footsteps. A door slams.

And then, quietly but clearly, I hear Drew hiss:

“What the hell have I gotten into?”





Chapter 8





I creep my way back to my bedroom and stare at the ceiling fan, resting on the bed, trying to get the confetti that flies through my mind at the speed of light to slow down.

I thought coming home would give me freedom. Closure. A fresh start. I thought I knew most of the answers about the incident four years ago, and could move forward with a new future that might always carry the scars of the past, but that would still be okay.

But no.

The press thinks I was drunk and high and asked for...for that? Asked to be tied up and gang-raped by three fraternity brothers, old friends of Drew’s who I had—until that moment—trusted with my life?

Instead, they stole my virginity.

My innocence.

My sense of trust.

Worst of all, my first love stole my soul from me.

And now he’s...defending me?

Nothing makes sense. Everything is upside down. When I went through my debriefing on the island, Stacia told me I could call their therapeutic hotline any time I needed support. I know that’s a trick, though. If I make that call, Daddy’ll put me back there in a hot minute.

I have no one to talk to. No one to turn to. My group of friends—Mandy, Jenna and Tara—were my besties. The four of us went everywhere, from the day we entered the pre-school we all went to, all the way through prep school. That night, four years ago, we’d all been home from college and partying like high school.

Did I drink? Sure. A few. Drew brought them to me.

Did I do drugs? No. Never.

Was I drunk? I didn’t think so. I’ve run through the night a thousand times in my mind, and I remember three drinks over the course of three hours. Stacia tells me the mind reinvents whatever it needs to change to fit a person’s inner desires. We want to believe that bad things can’t happen to us, so we reshape memories sometimes.

She never outright said that’s what I did. And I know I didn’t.

I’ve always thought that last drink must have been drugged. Spiked. Because after I finished it, the room turned to blurred cotton. Drew’s face had just disappeared, like layer after layer of lace had been overlayed until he just wasn’t there any more.

Until he stopped existing.

Until he turned into nothing.

Nothing at all.

Something way too close to tears tickles the edges of my eyes.

I start humming a Katy Perry song. One saving grace on the island: I was allowed to listen to almost any music I wanted. Songs about rape and abuse were carefully selected out of my playlist. Otherwise, I had free reign. The humming cuts through the blizzard in my mind.

The sound of my own voice in my throat feels like a weapon. It’s mine. Mine and only mine.

In the distance, a lawnmower starts. One of the cleaning people turns on a vacuum. And as I fade off to sleep, unable to fight my absolute, bone-weary exhaustion, I let the song die in my throat, my final conscious thought one, single word: Drew.



Grey. Every part of the world has turned a pale, dirty grey that makes me shrink back in terror. It’s cold and still, the chill seeping into each inch of my skin. My bones feel like icicles. I look down. I’m wearing a thin, cotton dress that goes to my ankles, my wrists, and that is three sizes too big.

The cotton is grey, a scratchy, stiff fabric that fills me with an uncontrollable impulse to tear it off. I would rather be naked in public than wear this garment one more second.