A Harmless Little Game (Harmless #1)

 

 

“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.

 

I know I can’t trust Drew, and yet here I am, relying on him to give me information no one else will. That is how screwed up my life is here back home.

 

“I have no idea, Lindsay. If I knew, I would tell you.”

 

“Liar.”

 

Heat pours over my front as a very angry wall of Drew comes within inches of my face. “I am many things, Lindsay, but I am not a liar.”

 

“You’re just a coward, then. I’ll cross liar off my list of words I assign to you, Drew.”

 

He pales. “You think I’m a coward.” Eyes narrowing into chocolate triangles, he leans so close I think he’s going to kiss me. Or bite me. It’s about fifty-fifty which he’ll actually do.

 

I open my mouth to say yes, but something in his eyes makes me stop.

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 27

 

 

 

 

 

“You really think that?”

 

His voice cracks, then goes low, right at the end, like a dying twig snapping in an ice storm, burdened too much to hang on and remain where it belongs. The heat from his hushed tones covers my nose and cheekbones, rushing down the rest of my skin like a dry wheat field set ablaze by a lone spark of flint.

 

Before I can answer—and what would be my answer?—Anya appears in the hallway, hurried and a bit horrified, judging from the look on her face.

 

“What are you two doing?” she hisses, plainly aware that something’s gone awry between us.

 

“Catching up on old times,” I say through gritted teeth.

 

“Your father is a busy man. We have forty-two minutes left for this damage control meeting, and—”

 

Daddy’s busyness has absolutely nothing to do with why she’s here, and we all know it. But this is a ruse. An important one.

 

“Damage control?” I bark, just as a wall of bright blonde hair comes into hallway. Mom. Great. Everyone’s angry. Angry at me, and coming to see what all the fuss is about.

 

Drew takes a step back and goes stone faced.

 

“What do you think you’re doing?” Mom asks me, her mouth tight with displeasure, thinned-out nostrils trying to flare.

 

“Drew and I needed a moment to talk,” I say smoothly, ignoring the samba beat my heart has taken as its anthem.

 

“Save the kissy face for later, Drew,” Mom says coldly.

 

He doesn’t twitch. Doesn’t react. Silas comes through the doorway, brow downturned in a perplexed expression, his body halting comically as the scene registers. Unlike Drew, he hasn’t learned to bury his emotions. To make his face resemble a grey granite rock.

 

He will.

 

The political security guys always do.

 

Or they just disappear one day, replaced by another interchangeable part.

 

A chill runs through me. If people could be cloned, I think Daddy and Mom would find that appealing right now.

 

Replace me with the “right” Lindsay.

 

“Lindsay had a question for me about Internet protocol that related to an earlier problem with her smartphone, Mrs. Bosworth. I have answered it.” Drew’s eyes flick to me for a nanosecond. “We’re done here.”

 

“We sure are,” I assure her.

 

“Good. Get back in there and listen to the consultants. Do what they say.” Her cold, dry palm caresses my cheek. Damn me for leaning into it, soaking up the affection. Her eyes harden. “Do exactly what they say, Lindsay.”

 

The or else is implied.

 

I follow her, eyes on the back of one perfectly-arranged wave of hair, ignoring the stare from Drew behind me.

 

Exactly thirty-eight minutes later, the basics have been covered:

 

 

 

1. I was drunk and high and asked three men to have rough sex with me.

 

2. The videotaping of the event was not my fault.

 

3. They were never prosecuted because no one can see their faces.

 

4. My friends went public and claimed I asked for it.