A Harmless Little Game (Harmless #1)(35)

Drew better follow.





Chapter 26





“What the hell is wrong with you?” he hisses the second we’re in the hallway, body language big and intimidating. I’m backed up against a wall, my only potential weapon a half-filled cup of lukewarm coffee.

“Wrong with me? I’m in there being talked about like I asked to be tied up, beaten, and violated by those three guys. What do you think is wrong with me, Drew?”

God help me, he smells so good. I look at his mouth. I kissed that mouth. Yesterday. Why am I thinking about kissing him now? No. I can’t do this. I can’t.

“You know damn well you didn’t ask for it.” If anger and compassion can blend together and live in a set of eyes, it’s happening before me right now, his words biting the air.

“And so do you. Why isn’t anyone talking about the fact that you were there, Drew? And why won’t anyone say the guys’ names? My name gets plastered all over the place. Tara, Mandy and Jenna are talked about. No one mentions you, or Stellan or John or Blaine. What the hell is going on?” I challenge. Our voices are barely above a whisper.

“Because no one ever saw their faces. Or mine,” he explains.

“What?”

“I assume you’ve seen the video, Lindsay.” He stares me down.

“Yes.” I don’t mention the hacking on the island. Too much right now.

“Then you know my face is cut off. And the later part, well....”

“Masks. I know. The f*ckers put on masks before they raped me. They planned for it.”

“And they put one on you, too.” He looks like he’s about to throw up or kill someone. Or both.

I sag against the wall. “Right.”

“Because they planned this all out. Made it look like some perverted sex game. Got Tara and Jenna and Mandy to go along with their media circus to smear you. Make it all seem like you wanted it.”

My gut contracts. Whatever he sees in my face as he searches it makes him frown.

“Your dad really kept you in the dark on everything.” His gaze shifts to Daddy’s office door. If looks could kill, Daddy would be a pile of ash.

“All of this is new to me,” I say, gritting my teeth. “Jane told me about Tara and everyone turning on me when I met her for coffee yesterday.”

“And that’s why you ran.”

“Yes.

He smacks the wall over my head, making me flinch.

This is not working. I am the one in charge. I need to know, before this farce of a meeting continues, why no one in that room knows the truth about what happened four years ago, and most of all, why no one is saying the obvious: Drew was there that night. He let it happen.

My heart is going to explode. I can’t allow it, so I deflect.

“You know what, Drew? I am thinking about creating a new version of Bingo.”

“Bingo?” he asks with about as much incredulity as you’d expect.

“Yes. Bingo.” I plant my hands on my hips and lecture him. “The squares would include the following phrases/words: Cone of silence.

Unreliable narrator.

Compromising position.

Damage control.

Bruised and beaten.

Reputation management.

Scapegoat.

Willful denial.

Slut shaming.

Consensual rough play.

Unfortunate choice.

Road to recovery.

Lapse of judgment.

“Get five in a row and you win...well, you win a bag of shit. Except it's not your shit. It's someone else's shit that everyone is willfully denying (B8!) the unreliable narrator (N7!) possesses. And because a massive distortion campaign (I2!) has made it impossible to say anything without becoming the scapegoat (G4!), you're f*cked no matter what.

“Sounds like fun, huh? You ever played this game?”

“It sounds like anyone’s version of hell, Lindsay.” Chairs shuffle against the carpet in Daddy’s office. I’m running out of time.

“Welcome to my world, Drew.”

“I want to help you escape it.” He pinches the bridge of his nose and looks away.

“You helped create it, Drew.”

His nostrils flare and he inhales sharply, the gasp cutting off in mid-breath, his self-control reasserting itself. Whatever objection he was about to register gets shut off. Shut down. Shut up, all because of his internal process that regulates him in ways I cannot understand.

“I’m not wrong,” I insist.

“No. You’re not.”

I jolt. That’s the first time he’s admitted it.

“I brought you out here,” I remind him. “You’re going to answer my questions, or I’ll tell them you’re the guy in the video.”

He snorts. “You think they don’t know that? The government controls more than enough technology to figure that out. Hell, a fifteen-year-old with a basic understanding of programming could identify everyone in that video.”

“Then why did Daddy hire you to protect me?”

My voice is low and menacing. My heart pounds in my chest, blood smacking against every cell in my body, including between my legs. I’m repulsed and aroused at the same time. It’s not a pleasant feeling. My skin feels like it’s covered with live electrical wires everywhere, and I have no idea who I can trust.