Page 14

14

KIRA

M y eyelids flutter open, my mind swimming through a fog. A familiar ceiling comes into focus—my ceiling. No... not mine. His version of mine. The recognition hits with a sickening lurch in my stomach.

I’m back inRyker’stwisted replica of my bedroom.

I test my limbs, finding my wrists secured to the bedposts with padded restraints. It’s not tight enough to hurt, but snug enough to remind me I’m not going anywhere. The attention to detail makes this so fucked up. Every poster matches mine exactly. My limited-edition Horizon figurines line the shelf in formation. Even my ancient stuffed penguin sits in the corner chair, watching with judging button eyes.

“Hey, Peng,” I mutter, my voice cracking. “You’re not real either, are you?”

A hysterical laugh bubbles up before dissolving into a sob. I’m talking to a stuffed animal in a fake bedroom created by my stalker. This cannot be my life.

I squeeze my eyes shut to block out the uncanny horror. The duplicate room is terrifying, like looking in a mirror where your reflection blinks when you don’t.

The maze. I remember running naked through that concrete labyrinth,Rykerhunting me like an animal. The humiliation burns fresh. He caught me, of course. He was always going to catch me. The game was rigged from the start. And then... God, what he did to me when he caught me...

My body shudders involuntarily. That’s the most terrifying part—how my body responded to him despite my mind screaming in protest. What kind of person does that make me?

The sound of footsteps outside makes my heart slam against my ribs. I tug harder at the restraints, knowing it’s useless, but unable to stop myself from trying.

“Level three.” Footsteps pause outside my door. “What sick game is level three?”

The door opens, andRykerfills the frame. He’s changed since the maze—a clean black t-shirt stretches across his chest, dark jeans hanging just right. His hair is damp like he just showered. The normality of his appearance makes this all so much worse.

“You’re awake.” His voice is soft. The same voice that guided me through countless game battles. The same voice that called me“Mischief”when I pulled off a particularly impressive kill shot.

I turn my face away, unable to look at him without seeing flashes of what happened in the maze. “Let me go,Ryker.”

“We both know that’s not what you really want.” He crosses to the bed and sits on the edge. The mattress dips under his weight. His hand hovers over my ankle before landing, warm and heavy. “Your pupils are dilated. Your skin is flushed.”

“It’s called fear.” I try to sound angry, but my voice betrays me with a tiny crack.

“I know the difference between your fear and your arousal.”

A shiver races up my spine. I hate that he can read me so easily. I hate even more that he might be right about what my body is feeling, even as my mind recoils from him.

“This is kidnapping. This is abuse. This is?—”

“A fantasy you’ve had for a while.”Rykercuts me off, his voice carrying a quiet certainty that crawls under my skin. “You’ve spoken it to your vibrator at three a.m. Typed it in incognito tabs.”

My face burns hot. How much has he seen?

“You don’t know anything about me,” I spit, renewed anger strengthening my voice. “You’re not normal.”

A shadow crosses his face. For a split second, something almost vulnerable flickers in his eyes.

“Normal is a setting on a washing machine.” His fingers drum against my ankle in a pattern I recognize—the same rhythm he taps out when waiting for a game to load. “Normal people don’t notice when you say you’re fine, but your voice pitches higher. Normal people don’t care that you sleep with three pillows because you hate feeling alone.”

My breath catches. I never told anyone that.

“You don’t know me.”

Rykerleans closer, his scent—pine and musk—filling my senses. “I know you cry during commercials with suffering dogs and restart levels when NPCs die, even when it doesn’t affect gameplay. I know you hum the Tetris theme when you’re nervous.”

He reaches up and brushes a strand of hair from my face, his touch feather-light. I flinch away, pressing my head into the pillow to escape his fingers.

“Don’t touch me,” I hiss, finding a spark of defiance.

Something dangerous flashes in his eyes. “I have every right. You’re mine,Kira. You have always been. You just didn’t know it yet.” His lips curve into a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

My stomach drops. “No more. I can’t?—”

“You can. You will.” His voice hardens as he stands, towering over me. “Level one was about claiming what’s mine. Level two tested your survival instincts.” His fingers trace the edge of my restraint. “Level three is about truth.”

He wheels over what looks like a medical cart. My pulse spikes when I see the array of items—small devices, wires, a laptop, and things I don’t even recognize.

“What are you going to do to me?” My voice sounds small, broken by fear.

“We’re going to play a simple game.”Rykersits beside me again, opening the laptop. “For every truth you tell me, you earn a reward. For every lie...” He holds up a small remote with a red button. “Consequences.”

“How would you even know if I’m lying?” I challenge, fighting against the fear crawling up my throat.

He taps the laptop screen, where a program displays a series of graphs and metrics. “Your physical reactions betray you. I’ve been researching you long enough to know your tells.”

“This is insane!” Tears well in my eyes again.

“This is intimacy,Kira. Real intimacy. No screens between us. No usernames to hide behind.” He connects a small sensor to my finger and another to my temple. “People spend their whole lives lying—to others, to themselves. Not here. Not with me.”

The clinical precision of his movements makes this somehow more terrifying than if he’d just raged or threatened me.

“We have all the time in the world.” He checks the restraints one last time. “Weeks, if necessary. However long it takes you to accept that your place is with me.”

I try to swallow, but my mouth has gone dry. Level three isn’t just another game—it’s completely dismantling who I am. A surgical excavation of every secret I’ve buried.

Ryker’sfingers move with clinical precision, attaching more sensors to my body—one on my chest, another at my wrist. Each touch is businesslike yet intimate, giving my skin goosebumps. His fingertips brush against the side of my breast as he places a sensor, and to my horror, I feel my nipple harden in response. A flash of heat travels through my body, pooling low in my belly.

I turn my face away, disgusted with myself. How can I respond to his touch when my mind is screaming in terror?

“Almost ready,” he murmurs, more to himself than to me. From the cart, he retrieves something black and sleek. “Lift your hips.”

“What? No.” Fear surges through me again.

His eyes lock with mine, patient but unyielding. “Either you lift your hips, or I force them up. Your choice, but one preserves your dignity.”

With burning cheeks and fresh tears, I raise my hips as much as the restraints allow.

Rykerslides what looks like high-tech underwear up my legs. The material is soft but fitted with small metal contacts that press against my most sensitive areas. My breath hitches when I realize what it is, and a sob escapes my throat. As his knuckles brush against my inner thigh, I feel another unwelcome pulse of arousal that makes me want to scream with frustration. What is wrong with me?

“Remote controlled,” he confirms, reading my expression. “The sensors detect your physiological responses to questions, but this”—he holds up the sleek black remote—“provides immediate feedback for lies.” His thumb caresses the button almost lovingly. “It can deliver anything from a gentle vibration to a significant shock, depending on the severity of the deception.”

Terror floods my system as he connects the final wires to the laptop. This isn’t just about monitoring my responses—it’s about conditioning them, training me like a lab rat.

“Please don’t do this,” I beg, all pretense of strength abandoned.

“Truth shouldn’t hurt. It only hurts when we fight it.” His thumb brushes my lower lip. “I’m setting you free. You just don’t know it yet.”

The machine hums to life, displaying my vital signs in real time: elevated heart rate, respiration, and rising temperature.

“First question.”Ryker’seyes lock with mine. “What frightens you more—that I might hurt you or that you might enjoy it?”

His question hangs in the air between us, invasive and raw. My mind races with potential answers, each more shocking than the last.

What frightens me more? The truth is complicated, twisted up in my own contradictions. I’ve fantasized about someone wanting me so badly they’d cross lines to have me. But this—this real-life nightmare version—is something else entirely.

Then I realize something. He’s so confident in his system, in his ability to read me. I should test it. See if there’s a weakness, a way to fool his precious technology.

“I’m afraid you’ll hurt me,” I say, forcing my voice to remain steady. I try to believe my words as I speak them, to convince myself they’re the complete truth. “I’m terrified of the pain you could inflict.”

The lie sits awkwardly on my tongue. It’s not completely false—I am afraid he’ll hurt me—but it’s not what frightens me most. What truly terrifies me is the part of myself that responds to his dominance, to his obsession—maybe this is what I’ve been waiting for all along.

I studyRyker’sface for any reaction, any hint that he’s detected my partial deception. My muscles tense in anticipation of whatever “consequence” his device might deliver.

Ryker’sexpression doesn’t change, but something in his eyes hardens. The corner of his mouth twitches slightly. The screens behind him flicker with red indicators.

“First lesson,Mischief.” His voice lowers, disappointment evident in his tone. “Never lie to someone who knows your tells better than you do.” He taps the screen where my vitals are displayed. “Your pulse jumped. Your micro-expressions gave you away. Your skin flushed along your collarbone—you always flush there when you’re being dishonest.”

I swallow hard. The fact that he knows my body’s reactions better than I do makes me feel more exposed than the fact that I’m naked.

“The rules were clear. Truth earns rewards. Lies earn consequences.” His thumb hovers over the remote. “You’re not afraid of pain,Kira. You’re afraid of wanting it. That frightens you—the part of yourself you’ve kept locked away.”

Before I can argue, his thumb presses the button.

The sensation hits without warning—an electric current pulsing through the contacts against my skin. I arch off the bed, a cry tearing from my throat. It’s pain—sharp, immediate, burning through every nerve ending. But beneath the pain, something else rides along—a buzzing sensation that sends confusing signals to my brain. The dual sensations war within me, my body unsure whether to retreat or lean in.

“Fuck!” I gasp when it stops, my chest heaving, tears streaming down my face.

“That was the lowest setting.”Rykerstudies my reaction clinically, but I catch the darkening of his pupils. “A reminder that dishonesty has a cost. But I suspect part of you enjoyed that more than you’d like to admit.”

I glare at him through my tears, hating him for being right, hating myself for my body’s betrayal. “You’re a monster.”

“No.” He leans closer, his breath warm against my ear. “I’m just the first person to see you clearly. To accept all of you, even the parts you hide from yourself.” His touch lingers at the curve of my neck. “Now, shall we try again? What frightens you more—that I might hurt you or that you might enjoy it?”

The electricity fades but leaves my skin tingling, a ghostly reminder of what happened. I hate this—hate how the pain and pleasure blur together in ways I don’t want to understand.

“Fine,” I concede. “What frightens me more is... that I might enjoy it.” The words taste like defeat. “That there’s something wrong with me for responding to this. That deep down, all those fantasies weren’t just fantasies.”

The admission hangs in the air between us, heavy with implication. I feel naked in ways that have nothing to do with my actual nakedness.

Ryker’sexpression softens, though that predatory focus never leaves his eyes. His fingertips ghost along my collarbone, tracing the flush that’s betrayed me. My body arches slightly into his touch before I can stop myself. I feel a fresh wave of shame at my involuntary response. My body wants his touch even as my mind recoils from it. The confusion is maddening.

“Eyes on mine,Kira.”

I reluctantly meet his gaze, feeling utterly broken.

“There she is,” he murmurs. “The realKira. Not the one who smiles for streams or pretends for friends. The one who lives beneath all those careful layers.” His voice carries an almost reverent quality. “Do you know how rare you are? Most people live their entire lives without facing their true selves.”

Something in his praise makes my chest tighten. Not just because it’s manipulation, but because part of me has always longed to be seen this way. Completely. Without judgment.

“That said...” His tone shifts, becoming clinical again. “You don’t get a reward for honesty that follows deception. Trust is earned, and you’ve just taken your first small step.”

I swallow hard, embarrassed by the flicker of disappointment I feel. What reward could I possibly want from my captor? Yet some traitorous part of me had anticipated it, whatever it might have been.

Rykeradjusts something on his laptop, eyes scanning the data and scrolling across the screen. “Next question.” His gaze returns to mine, penetrating and direct. “When you think about me—aboutRogue, aboutGhostDaddy—what fantasy often plays in your mind?”

His question pierces through me like a knife. My most frequent fantasy? The one that plays in my mind when I think of him? My throat closes up, and I feel the blood drain from my face.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The lie sounds hollow even to my own ears.

Rykerraises an eyebrow. “Your heart rate just spiked to 110 beats per minute. Try again.”

I close my eyes, unable to look at him. The fantasy that visits me most often in the dark of night, the one I’ve never admitted to anyone... It’s exactly this. Being taken and having my autonomy stripped away by someone who wants me so desperately they’d cross every line to have me.

“I can’t,” I say, my voice barely audible. “Please don’t make me.”

“That’s not how this works.” His fingers brush a path over my arm, raising goosebumps. My nipples tighten again in response, and I bite my lip to keep from making a sound. The disconnect between my mind’s revulsion and my body’s eagerness is torturous. “The truth will set you free, remember?”

I release a bitter laugh that dissolves into a sob. “There’s nothing freeing about this.”

His finger hovers over the remote, a silent warning.

“It’s... It’s too private,” I try again, feeling tears burn behind my eyelids. “Some things should stay inside our heads.”

“Nothing stays inside with me. Nothing.”

I know I should just tell him. The punishment will be worse for lying. But how can I admit that my deepest fantasy mirrors my current nightmare? That in my darkest moments, I’ve imagined someone wanting me so much they’d take me against my will?

If I tell him, I validate everything he’s done, give him permission retroactively, and admit that something broken inside me aligns with his twisted view.

“I can’t. I just can’t.”

His face hardens, disappointment etched in the lines around his mouth. Without warning, his thumb presses the button on the remote.

This time, the shock is nothing like before.

White-hot pain lances through me, a current that seizes every muscle. My back arches off the bed, restraints cutting into my wrists as I shake. A ragged cry wrenches itself from somewhere deep inside me, unfamiliar and untamed. The electricity surges through places I didn’t know could feel such intensity, each nerve ending igniting like a fuse. And beneath it all, horrifyingly, a deeper pulse of something that isn’t pain at all.

When it stops, I collapse against the mattress, gasping. Tears stream down my temples into my hair. My body trembles with aftershocks, muscles spasming involuntarily.

“That was level two,”Rykersays calmly as if he’s just adjusting the volume on a television. “There are eight more levels, and I have all the time in the world.”

I shake my head weakly, still trying to catch my breath. “You’re sick.”

“I’m patient,” he corrects. His fingers hover over the remote again. “Your most frequent fantasy about me. Detail it. Graphically.”

“Please,” I beg.

“I won’t stop until you tell me.” The certainty in his voice chills me. “Each shock will increase in intensity until you share your truth. This is a battle you can’t win.”

His thumb presses down again, and this time, I can’t even scream—my entire body tenses so violently that sound can’t escape. The current seems to reach deeper, finding places inside me that shouldn’t feel both agony and dark, twisted pleasure simultaneously.

When it stops, I’m sobbing, my chest heaving with ragged breaths.

“Your fantasy,Kira.” His voice cuts through the fog of pain. “Every detail. Now.”

My entire body throbs with the aftermath of the shock. I can’t take another one. I just can’t. The truth claws its way up my throat, desperate to escape.

“Fine,” I gasp, my voice breaking. “I’ll tell you.”

Ryker’seyes gleam with victory, his finger thankfully moving away from the remote. “I’m listening.”

I close my eyes, unable to look at him while I expose the darkest corner of my mind. “I...I fantasize about being taken. About someone wanting me so badly they’d...” The words stick in my throat, shame burning through me.

“Continue,” he prompts, his voice softer now.

“Someone who’d cross every line to have me.” Each word feels like ripping off a layer of skin, revealing raw, exposed flesh beneath. “In my fantasy, he knows what I want before I do. He doesn’t let me hide behind excuses.”

My chest heaves with ragged breaths. The sensors must be recording my humiliation, my pulse racing with the confession.

“He doesn’t ask permission. He just takes what he wants because he knows I want it too, but I’m too afraid to admit it.”

The tears flow freely now, not from pain but from the unbearable vulnerability of having this secret dragged into the light.

“I imagine being completely at someone else’s mercy. No choices, no responsibility. Just...surrender.” My voice cracks at the last word. “And the worst part is that I’m not fighting in these fantasies. I’m...grateful.”

I finally open my eyes to face him, shame burning my cheeks. “Are you happy now? Does knowing how broken I am make you feel justified?”

The confession hangs between us, my deepest shame laid bare under the clinical lights, captured by his machines and sensors. The truth I’ve never spoken aloud to anyone—that my fantasy is a twisted mirror of my current nightmare.

“Broken?”Ryker’svoice is surprisingly gentle. “No,Kira. Not broken. Human. Beautifully, perfectly human.”

His words should comfort me, but they only deepen my shame. Because even after everything he’s done, some part of me wants to believe him. Some part of me wants to accept this twisted absolution he offers. And that terrifies me more than any shock ever could.