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“Twenty minutes,” she whispers, turning from me and walking, not running, into the trees.

I’m mesmerized by the sway of her hips and her stride’s confidence. She glances back once, a half-smile playing at the corner of her mouth before disappearing into the forest’s green shadows.

My watch beeps. The countdown begins.

My blood rushes hot through my veins as I imagine finding her again, claiming her, teaching her the next level of our game. She’s learning faster than I anticipated, adapting to each challenge with a natural grace that surprises and delights me.

Everything is falling into place. Better than my simulations predicted. Better than my most elaborate fantasies.

22

KIRA

Ilose track of time in this forest of feelings. How long has it been since Ryker took me from the convention center? I lean against a tree, catching my breath.

The strangest part isn’t the kidnapping, the twisted games, or even the way my body responds to his touch. It’s how familiar he feels. All those nights gaming with Rogue, our voices tangled in the darkness while our characters fought side by side. The way he anticipated my moves before I made them. The way he always knew exactly what I needed in the game.

That wasn’t just gaming chemistry. That was him learning me.

My skin tingles where his fingers were earlier. I hate that I crave his touch now. I hate that I feel empty when he releases me from his grasp. Lost.

“You’re insane,” I whisper, sliding down against the rough bark. “Stockholm syndrome. That’s all this is.”

Something deeper contradicts that easy explanation. The connection we had as MistressOfMischief and Rogue wasn’t fabricated. The hours spent talking through headsets, laughing until sunrise, and sharing secrets in the safety of anonymity were real. But in there, I was safe.

I’ve known him for years, really. Just not like this.

A twig snaps nearby, and my pulse quickens, not with fear but anticipation. My hands shake as I realize I’m excited for him to find me again. Excited for whatever comes next. I should be terrified.

When did the game become a game I wanted to play? When did his voice become the one I listen to in the silence?

His mask can’t hide those blue eyes I’ve come to recognize, from my time in captivity and countless streams and videos I’ve watched of GhostDaddy. Two separate men I’ve fantasized about, all folded into one dangerous reality.

And God help me, I’m falling for him.

I don’t want to make this too easy for him.

Despite our twisted connection, I refuse to just roll over for Ryker. If he wants to play games, fine—I’ll play too. And I’m damn good at games.

Rising from my spot against the tree, I scan the forest floor. The ground here is covered in leaves that will crunch under his footsteps. An advantage for me. I’ve spent hours learning Rogue’s gameplay—I know his patterns now. He flanks. Always tries to come at his target from unexpected angles.

The tree beside me has low branches.

I grab the lowest one, testing its strength before pulling myself up. My muscles strain as I climb higher, finding a sturdy perch about fifteen feet up where branches create a natural seat. The leaves provide decent cover while giving me visibility in all directions.

From here, I can see much of the forest floor. My breath catches when I spot him—a dark shadow moving between trees about fifty yards away with predatory grace. Ryker hunts like he games: methodical, patient, calculating.

He’s searching the ground for footprints, touching tree trunks where I might have rested. His mask glints in patches of sunlight filtering through the canopy. I press myself against the trunk, making myself smaller.

My heart pounds so loudly I fear he’ll hear it. Seeing him hunt me and knowing I have the upper hand for once is intoxicating.

I could call out, end this chase now. Part of me wants to.

Instead, I bite my lip and remain silent. Ryker circles closer to my tree. He hasn’t looked up yet.

My fingers grip the branch tighter as he approaches. What will I do when he passes beneath me?

I hold my breath as Ryker stalks directly beneath my hiding spot. My muscles lock tight, every instinct screaming to stay still. Fifteen feet up in this tree, I should be invisible to him. Should be.