A Harmless Little Game (Harmless #1)(63)

But I can’t.

Instead, I freeze.

Drew senses it.

“You don’t have to say anything. This is so much to deal with. Just know that it’s not casual for me. It’s anything but. And I’m here for you. I’m here for whatever you need, whenever you need, because you’re my best friend and my true love and I’ve missed you. Not having you in my life has been like losing a limb that no one can see is missing.”

That makes me break my paralysis and turn over.

I touch his face and search his eyes for lies.

There are none.

And then I weep.

He holds me in his arms until I fade away into the bliss of nothingness.





Chapter 40





I wake up in a cold sweat.

Only this time, Drew’s right here with me, arms already around my waist, his chest warming my back. His thighs press into the curve of my ass and I breathe, slowing my tempo, willing myself back to calm.

The dream was nothing like the one that woke me up earlier.

This one was full-on reality.

John, Stellan and Blaine were there. I was tied down. Drew was tied up, hanging from the ceiling, arms at an impossible angle, his naked body hanging like Jesus on the cross. Guns and ropes and scarves and a burning car and something more sinister wait, right out of my line of sight.

And they all laughed while I writhed in pain.

No masks.

I’m wide awake now.

Even Drew’s arms can’t help me to settle. I blink. I blink again. The images from my dream won’t leave.

Maybe they’re not dreams.

Maybe they’re predictions.

Drew couldn’t protect me four years ago.

He wants to protect me now.

I’m not the same Lindsay.

And he’s not the same Drew.

His breath settles, tickling the back of my neck with a steady hush that makes me want to live in his arms forever.

But I can’t.

I have demons trying to slay me.

And the only way to kill a demon is to face it head-on and slay it first.

As I carefully peel Drew’s arm off me, I roll out of the bed. He stirs.

I freeze.

One skill I learned at the island: how to be so quiet that you’re undetected. When people underestimate you, it’s incredibly easier.

Easier than it should be.

I wait until Drew’s breathing goes back to the long, slow, deep breaths of childlike slumber. I watch him, the ache inside me too much to bear. His gentle, slow intimacy last night filled a cup inside me that had been empty for far, far too long. Parts of me that were parched are now quenched. Pieces of Lindsay that were shattered are now reassembled.

He healed me, kiss by kiss, caress by caress, and that is just the beginning.

As I watch him, my face radiates with a smile that traverses years. I follow his breath and watch his face, his muscles relaxed, the corners of his mouth turned up just enough. He is gorgeous. He is sublime.

He is mine.

Again.

My phone is on the bed. How did that get there? Maybe it fell out of my pocket while we wiggled out of my clothes. I reach for it, accidentally pushing the On button. The screen illuminates, a notification lighting up the night.

Come play with us, the text says.

And then a second one:

AGAIN

All of the blood in my body drains into the ground.

I should wake Drew. I should cry. I should gasp. I should scream.

I don’t do any of those things.

Instead, I stare at the words.

This will never end, will it? They’re relentless. They’re not going to back off. In fact, they’re emboldened now.

They should be.

They’re succeeding.

It only stops when I’m dead.

Or when they are.

I find the text from my hacker contact and reply with the pre-determined code. A picture appears on the screen. It’s Blaine Maisri, shaking hands with my dad, Anya in the background, beaming.

A second picture appears. It’s Drew, on his side, naked, the top half of him exposed, his body limp with sleep. In the upper right-hand corner, the tiniest hint of red cloth appears. His face is bruised, his hip a deep red.

I go cold.

I know that red cloth.

It’s one of the scarves. One of my scarves.

You have a choice. Drew’s words chill me now, a premonition he didn’t realize he was making. He meant I had a choice about touch and sound and feel and goodness, but I also have a choice about stopping those bastards once and for all.

Or do I? Maybe I have no free will.

Maybe I can’t control what needs to be done.

Moonlight shines through the slit in my curtains, drawing my attention to steel and leather.

Drew’s gun.

An idea pours into my mind, like concrete into a mold, injected and fully formed. I can’t fight it, though my rational mind tries. It flails and objects, but impulse overrides it, pinning logic in place, smothering it.

I look at the gun.

I stare at Drew, his steady breath so vulnerable and strong at the same time. He trusts me. He gave himself to me. What does that picture of him mean? And why would my darknet contact from the Island send that?

A third picture appears.

It’s Blaine.

Making a kissy face at me.

Can your heart start and stop in the same second?