Page 12

12

KIRA

I wake to my ceiling fan spinning lazily above me. My eyelids feel weighted with exhaustion that clings like a second skin. My head pounds with each heartbeat, making thinking difficult.

“What the hell?” My voice comes out raspy and foreign.

I’m in my bedroom. The blue comforter pools around my waist as I struggle to sit up. Dizziness washes over me, and I grab the edge of my nightstand. The wood feels solid beneath my fingertips. Real. But the fog in my brain refuses to clear.

The last thing I remember is...

The convention. Aloy costume.GhostDaddy.

Fragments flash through my mind but slip away before I can grasp them, like water in cupped hands.

I squint at my surroundings. My gaming setup sits in the corner. My clothes spill from the hamper. My Aloy poster hangs on the wall. Everything looks right, but the room feels... off.

The light coming through my window has an artificial quality. The traffic sounds lack the random peaks and lulls of actual city noise.

I swing my legs over the side of the bed and immediately regret it. The room tilts, and my stomach lurches. I feel drugged.

“Hello?” I call out.

No answer.

I focus on the details of my room, catching inconsistencies I hadn’t noticed before. For example, the spine of my favorite gaming guide is a different color, the pattern on my area rug runs in the opposite direction, and the books are arranged by height instead of alphabetically.

This is my bedroom, but it’s not my bedroom.

I reach for my phone, but my movements are clumsy. My fingers feel thick and useless as I fumble with the device. The screen lights up with my lock screen image, but even that looks subtly wrong.

Suddenly, the door opens, andRykerstrides in. His tall frame fills the doorway, and the sight of him hits me like a punch. Everything comes flooding back in a nauseating rush.

“Morning,Mischief.” His voice carries that same deep timbre that made my stomach flutter when we’d game together. Now, it makes my skin crawl.

I’m not home. This isn’t my bedroom. It’s a replica hidden somewhere far from civilization. AndRyker—my gaming partnerRogue, my TikTok crushGhostDaddy—constructed it all.

“You drugged me again.” My words slur slightly.

He smiles, that dimple appearing on his right cheek. “Just a little something to help you rest. You were... over-excited after our session.”

Our session. Images flash through my mind—me dancing for him in that first “level.” The feel of his hands gripping my hips during the lap dance he demanded. The humiliation burns through me all over again.

“How long have I been out?” I pull the blanket tighter, suddenly aware of my nakedness.

“Just overnight.” He approaches the bed and sits on the edge, too close. “You did so well yesterday,Kira. I knew you would.”

My stomach turns as I remember how my body betrayed me, responding to his touch even as my mind screamed in protest.

“Water?” He offers a glass, and the gesture triggers another memory—accepting a drink from him yesterday, the world going fuzzy around the edges—just like at the convention. The realization that he’s done this multiple times makes me want to vomit.

“Get away from me.” I press myself against the headboard, as far from him as possible.

His blue eyes darken. “Don’t be like that. Not after everything we shared.”

I stare at him, this stranger who isn’t a stranger. The man whose voice has been in my ears for countless nights of gaming, whose TikToks I’ve watched obsessively, who somehow became two separate fantasies, now merged into one terrifying reality.

“You’re insane.”

He tilts his head. “Is that what you think?”

“You kidnapped me. You drugged me. You built a fake version of my bedroom.” My voice rises with each accusation. “What part of that sounds sane to you?”

A smile plays at the corners of his mouth. “I prefer to think of it as dedication.”

Despite everything—the fear, the violation, the absolute horror of my situation—I can’t stop my eyes from taking him in. He’s beautiful in a way that makes me hate myself for noticing. Tall enough that I’d have to stand on tiptoes to reach his mouth. His arms are covered in intricate tattoos that disappear beneath his tight black T-shirt. His shoulders stretch the fabric, muscles shifting beneath as he leans toward me.

I hate that I can still see what attracted me to his online personas. I hate that some traitorous part of me still responds to his physical presence, even as every rational part of my brain screams danger.

“You don’t understand what you’ve done,” I say, hating how my voice trembles. “People will be looking for me.Jenna?—”

“Is now under the impression you took off with a friend on a trip.” He shrugs, the casual gesture chilling me to the bone. “As I explained before your last rest, she received texts from your phone. Very convincing ones.”

I feel sick. My best friend, the one person who would move heaven and earth to find me, thinks I’m off on some romantic adventure.

The methodical way he’s erased my existence from the outside world makes my blood run cold. He’s thought of everything.

“Someone will figure it out,” I insist, clinging to hope. “People know me. They’ll know something’s wrong.”

“Will they?” He raises an eyebrow. “The beauty of modern life is how disconnected we all are, even while seemingly connected. How many friends do you talk to daily? How often does your mother really check in? How many colleagues would notice if your social media posts became slightly less frequent but continued nonetheless?”

He’s right, and that terrifies me. My life has been increasingly online over the past few years. Aside fromJenna, my closest relationships have been with people likeRogue, people I’ve never met.

“You need to eat.”Rykerstands, clearly considering the matter settled. “We’ve got a busy day ahead of us.”

The way he says it makes my skin crawl—it’s like we’re colleagues about to start a project, not captor and captive.

“Gaming day.” He grins, that dimple appearing again. “Time to level up.”

My stomach drops. After yesterday’s “games,” I can’t imagine what fresh hell he has planned.

“Follow me.” He stands and holds out his hand expectantly.

“No.” The word comes out stronger than I expected. “I’m not playing your sick games anymore.”

His expression darkens, and I see the monster beneath the handsome exterior. “This isn’t optional,Kira.”

“What are you going to do? Drug me again? Force me?” I pull the blanket tighter. “Go ahead. Show me who you really are.”

“I don’t want to force you. I want you to participate willingly.”

“Then you shouldn’t have kidnapped me!” My voice rises, anger temporarily overriding fear. “You can’t kidnap someone and then expect them to ‘participate willingly’ in whatever twisted fantasy you’ve concocted!”

Rykertakes a deep breath, visibly composing himself. “I understand you’re upset?—”

“Upset?” I laugh, the sound harsh and borderline hysterical. “I’m not upset,Ryker. I’m terrified. I’m angry. I’m disgusted. This isn’t a game. This is my life you’ve stolen.”

“I haven’t stolen anything,” he counters, his voice still unnervingly calm. “I’ve given you an opportunity. A chance to experience something beyond your mundane existence.”

“By kidnapping me? By forcing me to strip for you?” The memory makes bile rise in my throat. “That’s not an opportunity. That’s assault.”

His jaw tightens. “You enjoyed it. Your body responded to me.”

“My body responded because I’m human!” I shout, past caring if it angers him. “Bodies respond to stimulation even when the mind doesn’t want it! That’s biology, not consent!”

We stare at each other, the air between us charged with tension.

“Get dressed,” he says finally, his voice clipped. “There are clothes in the closet. I’ll wait outside.”

He turns and strides to the door, his back rigid with tension. At the threshold, he pauses without looking back. “Five minutes. Then I’m coming back in, whether you’re dressed or not.”

The door closes behind him with a soft click. It’s not a slam, which makes it more unnerving.

I gently slide off the bed, wrapping the blanket around me as I approach the closet. Inside, I find replicas of my clothes mixed with items I’ve never seen before, all in the styles I would choose. The attention to detail is as impressive as it is disturbing.

I select jeans and a simple t-shirt, ignoring the lingerie and revealing outfits. As I dress, I scan the room for anything I could use as a weapon. Nothing obvious presents itself—no sharp objects, nothing heavy enough to do damage.

The five minutes pass too quickly. True to his word,Rykeropens the door exactly on schedule. His eyes take in my clothing choice, and I see a flicker of disappointment that I didn’t select something more revealing. Good.

“Let’s go,” he gestures for me to precede him into the hallway.

I consider refusing again but decide to conserve my energy for battles I might actually win. Reluctantly, I step past him into the hallway, which is an exact replica of my apartment building. The attention to detail is nauseating. How many times did he visit my building to get everything so exact?

The kitchen surprises me. Unlike my cramped apartment kitchenette, this spacious chef’s kitchen has gleaming stainless steel appliances and marble countertops.

“Sit.” He points to a barstool at the island where a plate of pancakes waits, steam still rising from the stack. The smell hits me—buttermilk and vanilla—and my traitorous stomach growls despite everything.

I perch on the edge of the stool, as far from him as possible. “I’m not hungry.”

“You need to maintain your strength.”Rykerslides the plate closer. “Eat.”

“No.” I push the plate away, a small act of defiance in a situation where I have so little control.

His jaw tightens. Without breaking eye contact, he taps on his phone. The wall-mounted TV flickers to life, displaying what looks like a video game interface. I see my name at the top, beside status bars labeled HEALTH, HYDRATION, and ENERGY.

My health bar hovers at 70%, yellow rather than green.

“Your body needs fuel,Kira.”Ryker’svoice is eerily calm. “Every action has consequences. Every choice affects your stats.”

He taps his phone again, and the HEALTH bar drops to 65%.

“What the hell is this?”

“Your life, gamified.” He pushes the plate back toward me. “Eat or you’ll see those numbers drop more. Trust me, you won’t like what happens when they hit critical levels.”

I stare at the screen, then back atRyker, rage building inside me. The gamification of my captivity is sick—a twisted extension of the online world we once shared.

“This is insane,” I mutter. “You can’t just?—”

“Can’t what?” His voice remains calm, almost gentle, which somehow makes it worse. “Can’t make sure you stay healthy? Can’t care about your well-being?”

“This isn’t caring,” I hiss, clenching my hands into fists. “This is control.”

Ryker’seyes darken, and his finger hovers over his phone. “Test me if you want.”

I glance at the screen again. What happens at critical levels? Punishment? Force-feeding? Something worse I can’t even imagine?

“You know what? Go ahead.” I cross my arms, finding unexpected courage. “Drop my health to zero. Show me what happens. Because I’m not playing your sick game.”

Surprise flickers across his face, quickly replaced by something that makes me believe he has ice running through his veins. “You don’t want to do this,Kira.”

“I didn’t want to be kidnapped, but here we are.” I hold his gaze, refusing to back down. “You think gamifying my captivity makes this okay? It doesn’t. It makes it worse.”

We stare at each other, locked in a silent battle of wills. Then, to my surprise,Rykersets his phone down.

“Fine.” His voice is tight. “But next time I offer you food, you’ll eat, or there will be consequences.”

A small victory, but I cling to it. I’ve established a boundary, however minor. I’ve shown him I won’t be completely compliant.

“Now come with me.” He grabs my arm, his grip firm but not painful. “It’s time for Level Two, whether you’ve eaten or not.”

He leads me through the kitchen to a heavy steel door I hadn’t noticed before. The contrast between it and the replica of my apartment is jarring—a reminder that this entire setup is a prison.

“Where are we going?” My voice sounds small, even to my own ears.

“Down.” He punches a code into a keypad beside the door, and it swings open with a metallic groan.

A staircase descends into darkness. My heart rate spikes, and I instinctively pull back.

“No. I’m not going down there.” The basement. It’s always the basement where the worst things happen.

Ryker’sexpression hardens. “It wasn’t a request.”

“I don’t care.” I plant my feet, refusing to move. “I’m not playing your game anymore.”

His patience snaps. In one fluid motion, he throws me over his shoulder. I scream, pounding my fists against his back, kicking wildly.

“Put me down! Let go of me!”

He ignores my struggles, carrying me down the stairs as if I weigh nothing. The stairwell is concrete and cold, the fluorescent lights flickering to life as we descend. My struggles are useless against his strength, but I don’t stop fighting.

At the bottom, another steel door awaits. WhenRykerpushes it open, I glimpse what lies beyond and momentarily stop struggling in shock.

“What the actual fuck?”

Before us stretches an elaborate maze with walls nearly reaching the ceiling. The space is far larger than should be possible in a residential basement. This isn’t a house; it’s a compound.

Rykersets me down but keeps a firm grip on my arm. “Welcome to Level Two,” he says, pride in his voice. “Do you like it? It took a long time to build.”

“You’re crazy,” I observe. “This is... this is...”

“Impressive? Thank you.” He steps beside me, scanning the maze entrance with satisfaction. “The rules are simple. There’s a prize waiting at the center—something you’ll want. You get a five-minute head start.”

My mind struggles to process what’s happening. “And if I make it there before you catch me?”

His smile widens. “Then you keep the prize. But if I catch you first...” His eyes darken as they sweep over my body. “I get to use you however I please.”

I swallow hard, understanding exactly what he means.

“And if I refuse to play?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.

His expression hardens. “Then we go back upstairs, and I introduce you to the punishment room. Trust me,Kira, the maze is the better option.”

I believe him. How he casually mentions a “punishment room” sends ice through my veins.

“Your time starts now,” he says, tapping his watch. “Better run,Mischief.”

I take a hesitant step toward the maze entrance, my mind racing through options—none of them good.

“Wait.”Rykergrabs my arm as I start to move. “You’re forgetting something.”

Before I can react, he produces a knife from his belt and cuts through my shirt in one swift motion. I scream, trying to back away, but his grip on my arm is iron. The knife continues its work, slicing through my jeans and underwear until I stand before him in shreds of fabric.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” I shriek, trying desperately to cover myself.

“Level Two is about vulnerability,” he says calmly as if explaining a normal game mechanic. “Physical and psychological. You’ll run the maze as nature intended.”

I stare at him in horror, my arms crossed over my chest in a futile attempt to maintain dignity. “You’re sick. This is sick.”

“It’s a game,Kira. My game. My rules.” He steps back, admiring his handiwork as I stand naked and trembling. “Four minutes and thirty seconds left of your head start. I suggest you use it wisely.”

Tears of rage and humiliation burn in my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. I won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing me break. Instead, I channel my fear into anger, letting it fuel me.

“Fuck you,” I spit, backing toward the maze entrance. “When I get out of here—and I will get out—I’m going to make sure you rot in prison for the rest of your miserable life.”

He smiles, unperturbed by my threat. “Four minutes, fifteen seconds.”

With no other choice, I turn and run into the maze, naked and afraid. The concrete floor is cold beneath my bare feet. The air chills my exposed skin, raising goosebumps everywhere. But I don’t slow down. I can’t.

Left turn. Right turn. Another right. The maze walls blur past as I run, my breath coming in desperate gasps.Ryker’s countdown echoes in my mind—four minutes left of my head start.

I refuse to be his prey. I refuse to let him win. Somehow, I’ll find a way through this maze and whatever sick games he has planned next. And then, somehow, I’ll find a way to escape.

Because no matter what he thinks, no matter what he’s planned, I am not his to keep. I am not his game to play. And I will never, ever willingly submit to him.