A Harmless Little Game (Harmless #1)

 

Having Daddy assign Drew to be in charge of my security detail is a major blow to my plan. For four years I just assumed he was in on the rapes. That he was complicit. One look in his eyes yesterday dissolved all that. There is no way he was part of it.

 

And now I have to rethink everything I thought I knew was true.

 

Taking Drew out of my plan makes this so much easier. Technically, he didn’t violate me. He wasn’t part of the crew who used my own clothing to tie me up. His body never, ever penetrated mine to the bone. He didn’t bloody me. Bruise me. Steal my soul.

 

But by doing nothing, he was worse.

 

So much worse.

 

I picked my running playlist based on the pace of the songs, choosing beats meant to drown out the world. I’m flying now, the strenuous clip making me huff as I nearly sprint on the carefully-groomed walking path that Mom designed about ten years ago. It’s exactly two and a half miles and today, I plan to run it four times in a row.

 

If I exhaust myself and turn into a noodle, it’ll be the best possible outcome for this impossible transition home.

 

Something touches my shoulder. I shrug, then scream behind closed lips. I feel heat behind me. Animal heat. Next to me. Vibrations from someone make me rip my earbuds out and sprint—hard. Someone’s following me, and at this point in the path, there’s no safety. I’m completely encased by some giant, thick-vined plant that feels like a spiny cage and can’t be seen by anyone at the main house.

 

Something touches my shoulder again.

 

I throw myself to the ground, remembering my self-defense training classes at the island. Women have more power in their leg muscles, so when you’re being attacked, drop. Use that power. Scream. Fight.

 

Fight.

 

I coil my leg back, ready to strike, and look up.

 

To find a very amused, panting, sweating Drew looking down at me. He’s wearing cargo shorts that look out of place, running shoes, and a tight, light-blue t-shirt that is soaked with perspiration. No sunglasses. A headpiece for a cell phone.

 

Cargo shorts?

 

And then I see the gun strapped into a belt around his waist.

 

“What the hell?” I scream, keeping my legs ready. Maybe Daddy made a huge mistake. Maybe Drew really was part of the attack and what if he’s here to get his turn, now.

 

As I make eye contact, all the amusement in Drew’s expression drains out.

 

“Are you out of your mind?” I scream again. “Get the hell away from me!”

 

He steps back, then says something into his mouthpiece.

 

“I’m sorry for scaring you, Lindsay. I just didn’t want to come up on you from behind and—”

 

“And what? Scare me more?” My heart feels like it took off into outer space, beating so hard I feel my pulse pound in my neck. The artery is like a bass drum.

 

“There was no perfect way to let you know I was here.”

 

“Then don’t be here.”

 

“That’s not an option.”

 

“What?”

 

“You can’t be allowed to roam an estate of this size alone. It’s too dangerous.”

 

“It’s too—what?” I’m dumbstruck. Truly dumbstruck. “I’ve never needed a babysitter at my own home before, Drew!”

 

“That was then.”

 

“You asshole.”

 

He offers me his hand to help me up. I ignore it, shove my earbuds in, and continue my run. I’m fleeing, no pace, no steady gait. I’m running like a spooked fawn in the woods, fleeing a potential predator, and damn it, Drew can tell.

 

He follows, but at a respectful ten paces behind me.

 

I can’t stop thinking about him. No song on my playlist is disruptive enough to stop my thoughts. No rhythm is strong enough to override my awareness of him. His bronzed skin glistens back there, the sun peeking out and kissing his legs. His tight t-shirt conforms to broad pecs that have thickened in the four years since I touched him. That chest used to have a place where my cheek could fit perfectly. Those corded, muscular arms used to wrap around me in passion, in pleasure, in comfort and in joy.

 

My tortured heart nearly cries out as I think about it. Willing myself to stop isn’t working. How do you stop thinking about someone who is so close? How do you stop feeling so much for a person who betrayed you so deeply?

 

Four years of therapy and I still don’t have an answer to those questions.

 

Five miles into the run and my legs are crying out for relief, but I keep going. No matter how high I turn up my music’s volume, I hear his footsteps behind me, the shuffle of dried leaves on the path, the sound of his steady, but increasingly labored, breathing cutting through the earbuds. I can’t drown him out. Can’t lose him. Can’t stop remembering he’s there.

 

Maybe that’s just it.

 

Maybe that’s the answer.

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 12

 

 

 

 

 

I halt suddenly, the epiphany so strong it’s like it sucked all the kinetic energy out of me. A wall of muscle named Drew slams into me from behind, pitching me to the ground, my cheek in mulch and dirty, his entire body pressed against mine from the back.