A Harmless Little Game (Harmless #1)

by Meli Raine

Close. He’s pretty close to being one.

  “Senator Bosworth is waiting for you, Ms. Bosworth,” Drew says in a voice so polite I want to slap him. My palm tingles at the thought. Seeing him is enough of a shock. Being treated like some stranger is so much worse than his presence.

  I can’t mess up, though. Stacia could still stop me from leaving.

  “I haven’t finished her discharge papers,” Stacia interrupts. Her tone is clear: she’s the one in charge.

  “That’s not my problem,” Drew barks back. His tone is even clearer.

  It says, You’re wrong, Stacia.

  I find it hard not to smile. I bite my lips to stop. I’ve never, ever seen anyone take on Stacia. Not once in the four years I’ve lived here at the Island Meditation and Serenity Center. The fact that it’s Drew is even more surreal.

  Why is Drew here? Drew? Why would my father hire him to protect me? Drew was off to join the Army as an officer. To fight in wars. To become a four-star General like his dad, with the family goal of hitting Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff one day.

  Now he’s a hired gun for politicos like my dad?

  This makes no sense.

  But I know how to seize an opportunity. While living here for four years, drugged up for most of them, has made me soft, it hasn’t made me stupid.

  I walk toward the door. Drew is the threshold between imprisonment and freedom. I may hate him. I may cry into my pillow every night wondering why he let them destroy me four years ago. I may still burn with the heat of a thousand suns for him.

  But I’ll be damned if I won’t use him to get home.

  As I walk past him, his arm holding the door open for me, I make the mistake of inhaling. The all-too-familiar scent of his aftershave, soap, and a distinctly male scent makes my mind turn into millions of pieces of memory. My body floods with the heat of passion and love. Tempered by four years of pain, it’s an emotion that comes in a giant tidal wave of the loving past and the broken now.

  My stomach twists like a wet rag in the hands of an angry god.

  My heart, though—oh, my poor heart. It beats double time, speeding fast as if it could make up for lost years and find Drew, track down his own twinned heart and give it a welcome kiss. As if we were still lovers graced with the easy give and take of people who just know.

  Just...know that they’re meant to be together.

  All that emotion flits through me in two seconds. In the time it takes to inhale, I’m transported to the paradox of fate. The old Lindsay, battered and bruised beyond recognition, turns out to be crouched deep inside me, still there, still watching.

  And summoned by the scent of a man I never thought I’d see again.

  “You can’t,” Stacia snaps, bringing me out of the split-second reverie. “You can’t just take Lindsay.” Her eyes narrow, then flit from me to Drew. “Wait a minute. ‘Andrew’?” Her eyes widen. “You’re Drew?” She gives me one of those searching looks I know so well. The kind she uses in therapy sessions where she accuses me of withholding my emotions.

  Where she’s right.

  I halt, my arm brushing against Drew’s elbow as he moves from the threshold into the hallway. He curls his body protectively, as if forming a shield between me and Stacia.

  A bitter taste fills my mouth. I begin to sweat, the sheen chilling my skin. I’m so close to leaving. I look out the window and see the helicopter.

  Drew says something into his mouthpiece, then herds me to take three steps. Somehow, though, he does not touch me.

  Oh, how I wish he would.

  No! Where did that thought come from?

  “You can’t!” Stacia repeats, her voice going higher with shock and panic. She’s shocked because he’s disobeying her. The Drew I knew four years ago had no problem disobeying an order if he had a reason.

  My father has clearly given him a reason.

  “Watch me,” Drew tosses back over his shoulder as he walks behind me, setting a fast pace. My heels click-clack on the hallway tiles. I pick up my speed. I don’t need to be told twice to move fast. I have no idea how much power Stacia has to keep me here, but it dawns on me that maybe she has less than I thought.

  My first real smile in four years spreads my face as a grin takes over. I see my reflection in the glass walls as we walk down the hallway toward the double doors that take us outside.

  And then I realize Drew’s watching me.

  Watching me smile.

  Chapter 4

  Blood pounds through me as I slam the double-doors open, the blinding sunlight making me halt. I’ve been outside thousands of times here on the island, but never without supervision.

  Technically, I’m supervised right now. But this feels different.

  “Mr. Foster! Drew! You need to stop!” Stacia comes running behind us, her voice angry and loud. By the time she reaches us, the helicopter blades have begun to rotate with an aching slowness that makes my pulse quicken. It’s like watching a kitchen mixer slowly start. Anticipation makes me tingle, knowing that soon, that helicopter will contain me.

  Drew reaches out and touches my shoulder. I flinch, but stop. He lets go. Why do I wish he wouldn’t let go? My skin is like a suit of cotton that covers millions of buzzing bees under the surface.

  He whips around and faces Stacia, his sunglasses on now. “I need to accomplish my mission,” Drew answers, his words tight. “You do whatever paperwork you need, but Lindsay is done here.” And with that, he’s made Stacia as important as a plastic grocery bag carried into traffic on the wind.

  He reaches for my elbow without permission and I’m walking next to him, two steps for each of his, giddy and panting as my hair starts flying behind me from the force of the wind the helicopter blades make.

  “Senator Bosworth will—” Stacia’s words are cut off by the loud droning sound that comes from the helicopter engine. Suddenly, I don’t care that Drew is the one taking me away. He’s the reason I’m here. The reason I’ve suffered for four years. Later, when I’m home, I can scream at Daddy and have him fire Drew. I can yell and rage against whatever possessed my father to pick my ex-boyfriend to be my so-called “protector.”

  Not now, though.

  Now, he can get me the hell out of here.

  I stumble right before the open door to the copter, my hip crashing into Drew’s as my ankle turns inward. I don’t fall. His hands hold me up, his muscles powerful and coiled under that suit jacket, his assured grip both infuriating and intoxicating.

  He doesn’t say a word. Just picks up right where he left off, guiding me to the helicopter. I climb in and he reaches across my body to pull the seatbelt harness over me. I finally recover my wits and bat at his hands.

  “I’m not a child,” I shout. He retreats, palms toward me, but he watches like a hawk to make sure I secure myself appropriately. Then he shuts the small door and hands me a set of earphones that look like catcher’s mitts. I hold them in my hands but don’t put them on.

  It occurs to me that he’s observing me closely because I am his mission. Not because he has residual feelings for me. I’m a client. I’m a paycheck.

  I’m a checklist for Drew, just like I was a checklist for Stacia.

  Maybe I’m trading one kind of imprisonment for another.

  Drew thumps the pilot on the back and we begin our ascent, Stacia below us and screaming on a phone, waving wildly at the rising chopper, her face twisted with anger at losing. I’m not sure what she just lost, and whether I’m the winner, but that smile on my face?

  It widens.

  I watch the island become smaller and smaller as we rise. The six clusters of three buildings each were all I knew for four years. I see the outdoor pools. The tennis courts. The rock labyrinth and the paths through the gardens. Golf carts cluster by the facilities building and the dock has a new boat there, likely filled with new candidates for “serenity work.”

  Someday, I might actually miss this place.

  Nah. Scratch that.

  I flip
Stacia the bird just as she looks up and catches my eye. Or, at least, I imagine she does.

  And then we’re off, the ocean below us an endless stretch of watery ribbons that feel just dangerous enough not to watch.

  “Happy?” Drew asks, pointing to my face. My smile must be pretty huge to get that kind of comment.

  His eyes darken as I stare at him, not speaking. Whatever hint of a smile was on his face disappears. All his muscles go slack. He is neutral. A blank wall. Just like all the workers at the island.

  I let the stare last for ten, twenty, thirty seconds. Then we shift into eternity.

  Finally, I lean toward him, lowering my voice, not bothering to shout above the noise. If I say this in just the right frequency, he’ll hear me all right.

  “I hate your fucking guts. Don’t you ever, ever speak to me again,” I say. “Are we clear?” I put on my headphones and maintain eye contact. I fight the urge to give him my middle finger, too.

  His face does not change expression. He puts on his own headphones and maintains eye contact, not backing down from the challenge of my intensity.

  And then he gives me a finger, too.

  It’s one thumb, standing straight up.

  Message received.

  Mission accomplished.

  Chapter 5

  Home.

  We land in California, the ride a long hour. It feels long because I closed my eyes the entire time and pretended Drew wasn’t there. My mind did, at least.

  My body, on the other hand, reminded me every aching second that he was across from me. Blood rushed through me like bike messengers in a contest to see who could deliver a message the fastest. Drew spent most of his time calmly inventorying me. On the island, I’d learned to watch people who watched me. I can crack my eyelids open half a millimeter and appear to be asleep.

  Drew watched me for that entire ride. And I felt every second of it.

  Why? The word loops through me with an obsessive mantra. My therapists on the island would tell me that if I couldn’t get it under control, they would increase my meds and decrease my media time. I shiver, the quick twitch unnerving.

  My therapists don’t have any control over me. Not anymore.

  We begin to land.

  I breathe in slowly, willing my mind to stop chasing itself. I exhale, imagining the pain drain out of me. My therapists told me that the pain I hold onto in my body is the source of my suffering. The medications all dull the pain.

  Pain is my enemy.

  And Drew let all that pain happen.

  A thousand questions ping against the walls of my skull. I can’t ask him any of them. Not one. If I crack open that vault, I’ll never stop. I have to end this self-torture.

  “Your father is in his office in the south wing of the house,” Drew shouts as the helicopter blades slow down. “He wants to see you before you go to your room.”

  Your father. The south wing. Your room. These are words that have meaning, but I’ve been gone for so long.

  I ignore Drew. If I pretend he doesn’t exist, I can cut down on suffering, right?

  “Lindsay?” Drew shouts.

  I pointedly ignore him and unclip my seat harness, scrambling out the door before he can stop me.

  My high heels sink into the lush grass at the landing site. This slows me down. All I can think about is getting into my house. My home.

  And getting away from Drew.

  My progress ends with an abrupt wall of six feet plus of muscled man in front of me. I crash into him, his movement so swift I don’t see it coming. My face smashes into his chest, the soft weave of his cotton shirt like the smooth skin of the back of his hand brushing against my cheek.

  A small cry of desire comes from the back of my throat. I twist the sound until it is outrage, but deep inside I know.

  I know what it really is.

  And I hate myself for it.

  “Lindsay, I—” Frustration fills his voice, lowering it. His voice is so deep. So commanding. I’d forgotten how he could make electricity flow through my body just by saying my name.

  “I’m sorry,” he says. My ear is pressed against his broad, hard chest. I feel the words more than I hear them. The vibration and cadence make it clear he’s apologizing. Heat radiates off him like he’s the sun and I’m in his orbit.

  I break away. I’m not his moon.

  “You should be sorry,” I snap, marching toward my destination, fighting the soft ground. I don’t want to talk to him. I don’t want to do this. Not now.Definitely not right now. I haven’t seen him for four years. Four long, painful, horrible years. More than 1,400 days of waking every morning knowing I wasn’t with him. Knowing he sat there that night and did nothing while three men raped me. Degraded me. Used and abused me and enjoyed it.

  My body goes into a full-blown supernova, skin on fire at the thought. My rage cannot be contained by a mere mortal body.

  I turn around. He’s right there, following me.

  “Go the fuck away, Drew. I told you. I hate your guts. Leave me alone.”

  At least, I think that’s what I say. My mind can’t process words and thoughts right now. I am fixated on the red door at the back entrance of the house, the sprawling mansion that is the only home I’ve ever known, aside from Daddy’s townhome in Washington D.C. If I can make it to that red door without Drew touching me, if I can make it to my bedroom and to my medications where I can take enough to fall asleep, maybe I can get my brain to work again.

  And stop the flood of emotions that are making me crazy.

  But no.

  Drew follows.

  I ignore him and storm through the red door. I stop in shock.

  Everything is different.

  Everything.

  Gone is the white carpeting my mother always told us to keep clean. Gone is the chandelier that glittered like diamonds at night when it was turned on. Gone are the heavy green curtains that framed each window.

  Gone.

  Gone.

  Gone.

  The floor is blonde hardwood now, the walls textured with subtle earth colors, all beige and cinnamon and lemongrass tones. I see a zen rock garden and a small water fountain burbling in the corner, water pouring over carefully stacked and balanced stones.

  The parlor room looks like a spa. It looks, disturbingly, like one of the spas at the island, and I recoil in horror.

  “Lindsay!” booms my dad’s voice as he opens the door to his office wing. “Welcome home. I see Drew is doing his job well. You’re home safe and sound.”

  Sound, maybe. Not so sure about safe.

  And job? What does that mean? I open my mouth to ask, but am met with a face full of cashmere suit jacket.

  Daddy offers me a big hug, like he’s the loving father and I’m his prodigal daughter. Much of this is for show. For Drew’s sake, and to impress any of the servants who see my homecoming. If we weren’t being watched, he’d give me a half-hearted “hello” or say virtually nothing. I know that the drama from four years ago ripped him apart, but mostly because having your daughter gang-raped on live, streaming television can cause a few bumps for your publicity team when you’re a United States Senator.

  Funny how that works.

  Like Drew, though, I can’t forgive Daddy for what he did. Drew did nothing to stop it, but Daddy’s words after the event were like pouring salt on the wound.

  I can’t believe you let that happen isn’t exactly the sentence most people want to hear while they’re soaking in the bathtub after having three men drug you and hold you down and enter nearly every orifice on your body.

  They couldn’t fit their cocks in my ears. Otherwise, my body was one big game of insert the peg into the hole.

  I can’t believe you let that happen.

  Daddy shakes Drew’s hand and I start to gag. The retching feeling is stuck in my throat. I don’t make a sound. They ignore me, heads huddled together, eyes on the ground as they murmur and whisper, conferring and transferring information.

/>   I am just a fleshbag. A possession. A piece on a chess board that Daddy moves where he wishes for optimal game play.

  And Daddy always plays to win.

  I walk into the kitchen and reach for a glass in the cupboard, but instead find breakfast cereal bowls.

  Everything has changed.

  Four cabinets later and I locate the glasses, new green-tinted tumblers. All the appliances are new, sleek stainless steel nestled in between countertops made of polished pearl marble. Not granite. Marble. I’ll bet Daddy had it flown in from Italy or Slovenia or some obscure country where he helped open a new trade agreement.

  Being head of the Foreign Relations committee meant every personal decision carried a political attachment to it.

  Even choosing not to prosecute the men who raped his daughter.

  The past and the present are blending together in whip-quick succession as I stand in front of the water dispenser, impatiently waiting for my glass to fill. My head is pounding and blood rushes through me like waterfalls are in my ears. My hair is plastered to the back of my neck and every word I can’t hear between Daddy and Drew makes me want to scream.

  I know they are talking about me. Figuring out the best way to handle me. Well, Drew’s done his job. Goods have been delivered. Lindsay is under control.

  And having me contained is Daddy’s biggest wish. You can’t do damage control on someone who isn’t corralled.

  I laugh through my nose at the thought, then feel the prickly sensation. The one that happens right before white dots fill my vision.

  Oh, no.

  Chapter 6

  My knees always fill with a kind of numb tingle right before it happens, like they’re balloons being pumped full of novocaine. My hand slips and the full glass tips over in slow motion. I see the water pour out over the lip, splashing on the ground as I fall.

  A part of me braces for the pain of bones against the cold tile of the kitchen floor.

  And then warm, powerful arms catch me. I’m braced for an impact that never happens. An arm slides behind my knees, the other under my arms and I’m in the air, Drew’s masculine scent surrounding me like a protective mist. He’s marching with determination, cradling me carefully. My eyes are closed. I know all of this only through my other senses.