A Harmless Little Game (Harmless #1)

 

“None of what you think happened that night is real other than what they did to my body.”

 

Marshall turns a furious shade of red. The women with him, who have now become The Red Queen and The White Queen in my mind, because of the color of their shoes, put their heads together and whisper, as if we can’t hear them.

 

Silas goes stone faced. Drew does the opposite, his eyes alight with emotion.

 

“Lindsay, we’ve done research into this delicate matter,” Daddy says, standing. Ah. Meeting over. Lindsay dismissed.

 

I march over to him as if possessed by someone I’m not quite sure exists, and grab his wrist. He flinches, shocked by the force of my grip. I want him to feel, damn it. Feel something. Surely, all my emotions are spilling over, like the Hoover Damn after an unprecedented rainstorm, a spillway of monumental proportions.

 

“Delicate?” I rasp. “You think it’s delicate to sit here and have me listen to you and your strategy team treat my gang rape like it was some college mistake on my part?”

 

At the words gang rape, I see Mom stand up and march over like a bull rushing a red flag.

 

“Don’t use those words,” she hisses.

 

Drew’s body elongates, as if he’s grown a few inches, his muscles rigid and ready. He’s priming himself to physically intervene.

 

My God. Has it come to this?

 

“It’s the truth,” I spit out. “I was gang raped.” I try to catch Marshall’s eye, but he won’t look at me. No one will look at me.

 

Except Drew.

 

“I wasn’t drunk. Not by choice, at least. I didn’t do any drugs. And those ‘friends’ who lied to all of you, and to the media, are a bunch of backstabbing assholes who lied for some sick reason,” I declare. My chest still feels like a cement truck is parked on it, but the spots in my vision are starting to clear. I’m gaining strength from being free to speak my mind. Speak the truth.

 

Insist on being heard.

 

“Tara, Mandy and Jenna are fine, upstanding young women who you placed in a deeply unfair position, Lindsay!” Mom peels my fingers off Daddy’s wrist and digs her fingernails into my palm so hard I feel flesh tear. But I don’t move a muscle, because my skin has separated from my body and hovers above us, miles away.

 

“No, Mom. The only people who placed me in an unfair position were the three guys who tied me up and raped every hole I have.”

 

SLAP!

 

My teeth rattle in my skull, my neck jerking to the side, the painful tear of neck muscles causing a tight, splintering spasm that makes me stagger. I don’t fall, but I come damn close, and soon deep voices shout mine and Mom’s names, over and over.

 

I look up, my lip split, Drew holding my mother’s elbow, Mom screaming in his face.

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 28

 

 

 

 

 

Daddy stands back and watches the room with narrowed eyes.

 

“You get your fucking hands off me, Andrew Foster. You have no right to touch me like this. I will call security and—”

 

“I am security, Monica. I’m Lindsay’s security, and you currently represent a physical threat to her,” Drew says, his voice tainted with disgust and a politeness that makes her seethe. Two plainclothes security guys, Daddy’s retinue, flood the room. They assess so quickly I don’t even see it, and Drew gives a sharp nod, letting go of Mom.

 

Daddy holds his palm up to them. They retreat, like well-trained dogs.

 

“Don’t you ever harm Lindsay again,” Drew instructs my mother, who stretches her head up and holds his gaze like she wishes he would burst into flame.

 

“You can’t tell me what to do, you weak little no-account worm who—”

 

“He’s a decorated war hero who saved my helicopter when it was shot down on a diplomatic visit to Lagos, Monica. For God’s sake. Let up on him. Just because he caught you in the wrong doesn’t mean you should take it out on him,” Daddy says, his commanding voice making everyone freeze in place.

 

Mom’s gaze moves from Drew to Daddy, the anger unwavering. I didn’t know about the helicopter mission, or Drew’s role in it. So many details I don’t know. Pieces of the situation are starting to fit into the framework of a larger puzzle.

 

My palm presses against my cheek, which feels wet. Gingerly, I investigate and find a small gash under my eye. Mom’s ring must have torn the skin. She looks at me, chin up, defiant in that way she has, where she’s so convinced she’s right that she doesn’t care about the emotional consequences.

 

“You should be more respectful in your language, Lindsay.”

 

This is the moment when I would cower. Before. Before, I would do whatever I was told, but I was free to live my life within the confines of whatever Mom and Daddy set out for me.

 

Mom is about to get a taste of After.

 

“I’m so sorry,” I say, lowering my voice with a plaintive, apologetic tone.