“Fake everything last night just so you could convince me you really care about me and maybe there’s hope. Fake it so you could trick me and get your hands on my gun and escape.”
Snake eyes. Lindsay’s looking at me with narrowed slits, reluctant to tell any truths. I can’t blame her, but I do. She’s ruining everything. Whatever half-baked scheme she thinks is going to work may very well destroy my carefully crafted machine that is designed to perform the same function: Revenge.
“Here.” She tosses a phone at my face, crossing her arms over her chest, her mouth tight. “Read that.”
Come play with us, the text says.
And then another one.
AGAIN
Then three texted pictures. Harry shaking hands with Blaine Maisri at a political event.
The second pic turns me into a tingling body of stone and ice. I skip it. I force myself to look at the third texted picture of Blaine kissy-facing the camera.
“Fuck,” I curse. My eyes dart to meet hers. I hold up the phone, the glowing screen pointed at her. “This is why you ran? This?”
“Wouldn’t you?”
“No, Lindsay, that’s the entire damned point. No, I wouldn’t, not if I had a highly trained, highly motivated nine-member security detail assigned to me. No, I fucking wouldn’t run, because I would trust the men whose entire purpose in life is to protect me.”
“BUT YOU DIDN’T!” She explodes like a hand grenade tossed right into the middle of all four chambers of my heart.
“I TOLD YOU WHAT HAPPENED!”
“And they still raped me, Drew,” she says, her voice low and intense. “Nothing you tell me about that night changes the fact that they just turned me into a bucket of flesh holes for their pleasure.”
Flesh holes makes my throat spasm. “Nothing they did to you was about pleasure. It was about control. Power. Evil.”
“That’s exactly why I need to run away.”
Something in her eyes changes the air between us. What happened? What isn’t she telling me?
“That’s why you need to stay next to me at all times,” I counter.
Her slow blink is the only answer she gives.
I’ll take it. It’s better than no.
“Drew, what is that picture of you about?” she asks. The question feels like the weight of four years crammed into a handful of words.
“I’ve never seen that picture before.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“What do you think it’s about, Lindsay?” If they shared that picture with her, what else did they show her?
My skin turns to cold plastic. My mouth goes dry. The world turns into nothing but dark shadows and cold winds.
“You’re naked in that pic. And you have blood all over you.” She’s staring at the ground, then her eyes click up to meet mine. “And my scarf is in the picture. What...what did you really do that night? Whose blood is that?”
Someone bangs an enormous gong in my head.
She’s really asking if that’s her blood.
The truth is, I don’t know.
“I can tell you what I know,” I choke out. “I know I didn’t hurt you that night. I know they drugged me. I know I would never, ever willingly participate in what they did to you.”
Mark Paulson clears his throat. I can’t see him. He’s behind a bush. The other guys must be getting antsy. You don’t order a high alert and leave them hanging. Relieved by the interruption, I leave Lindsay hanging.
I can only handle so much. I’m made of steel when it comes to protecting other people, but even I have weaknesses.
Not many.
But this topic is one of them.
“And I know damn well, Lindsay,” I add, grabbing her arms, pulling her to me with a fierce possession. “I know damn well I’ll never, ever let them hurt you again.”
“How am I supposed to know that, Drew?” Her words are a mixture of fury and a whimper that says she wants to believe me. “I see a picture like that and of course I wonder.”
Those assholes. I open my mouth to explain. Or to try.
“Drew?” Mark calls out.
Saved by the bell.
“Tell Gentian it’s covered,” I call out to him. “We got it. No need to tell Bosworth.”
Lindsay’s shoulders sag with relief. Her eyes cut over to both of us, and when she meets mine, she’s fuming. Aching with confusion and pissed as hell, but she’s panting.
Exertion? Arousal?
I can’t tell the difference in her anymore.
I reel back.
I call out to Mark. “But we have a new situation. You, me, and Gentian inside in Lindsay’s bedroom in ten minutes. Tell the team to go back to normal stations. Crisis over.”
Paulson leaves, and just as he’s around the corner, Lindsay tries to run for it. Again.
I pounce, flattening her in seconds, belly to belly, and this time, she’s not getting away.
Before she can say a word, my mouth’s on hers, my body blanketing her, hips grinding into her, my cock hard and ready. None of this makes sense.
Not one movement, not one kiss, nothing.
She pushes up against me, her energy and anger directed through her mouth, her hands, the way she grabs my ass. Her hands pin me to her body. This is her volition. Her will. Her need is clear.