Page 31

31

RYKER

T he drive back to the compound stretches in silence. Kira stares out the window, her face a mask I can’t read. The water still clings to her hair, salt crystals forming as it dries. I keep glancing at her, cataloging every detail—the rise and fall of her chest, the slight tremble in her hands, the way she tucks her legs underneath her on the seat.

“You’re free to go,” I say, the words cutting my throat on their way out. “When we return, I’ll take you to your place if that’s what you want.”

Her head snaps toward me, eyes wide. “What?”

“You’re not my captive anymore.” My knuckles turn white on the steering wheel. “It’s your choice now.”

We pull into the compound, and I kill the engine. The silence feels like a wall between us. I wait, not daring to look at her, afraid of what I might see—or worse, what I might do if she chooses to leave.

“Ryker?” Her voice is small, uncertain.

“Yes?”

“I don’t want this to end.” The words tumble out in a rush. “I want to be with you. Stay with you.”

“Are you sure?” I ask, my voice rough.

She nods, reaching for my hand. “I’m sure.”

Inside, I guide her to the shower while I head to the kitchen. For once, I’m not calculating, not planning—just feeling. I pull ingredients from the fridge, making her favorite pasta dish I discovered when surveilling her. The familiar motions of cooking center me.

When she emerges in one of my t-shirts, hair damp and cheeks flushed, I can’t help but stare.

“What?” she asks, self-conscious.

“Nothing.” I smile, setting a plate before her. “Just thinking I’d like to take you on a proper date. Our first one.”

“A date?” Her lips curve upward.

“Yes, a real date—dinner, maybe a movie. Whatever normal people do.” I brush a strand of hair from her face. “No levels, no games. Just us.”

Emotions play across Kira’s face—vulnerability, desire, hesitation. She takes a bite of pasta, closing her eyes briefly as she savors it.

“I’d like that,” she says, looking up at me through her lashes. “A real date sounds nice.”

I nod, relief washing through me. But then she continues, her voice growing stronger.

“But I quite like the levels, too,” she admits, a blush creeping up her neck. “Maybe we could do the remaining levels you planned spaced out over time? Not all at once, like we’ve been doing.”

My fork freezes halfway to my mouth. I set it down carefully.

“You’d want to continue?” I ask, my voice rougher than intended.

Kira nods, tracing patterns in her pasta sauce with her fork. “I actually—” She stops, swallows. “I loved Level Seven.”

The beach. The tide. Her bound to the post as the water rose around her. Her fear and arousal mingled as I took her in the crashing waves.

A darkness surges through me, a possessive heat. In all my calculations, I’d factored in Stockholm syndrome, trauma bonding, and even eventual acceptance. But not true desire. Not her asking for more.

“You loved it?” I repeat, needing to hear it again.

“The rush of it. The danger, knowing you wouldn’t let anything really bad happen to me.” Her eyes meet mine, steady now. “How you looked at me like I was the only thing that mattered in the universe.”

I reach across the table, taking her hand in mine. Her pulse flutters under my thumb like a captured bird.

“You are,” I say simply, because it’s true. “You’re everything.”

She turns her hand over, her fingers intertwining with mine. “So we can have both? Normal dates and... the other stuff?”

I lean forward, the intensity of my gaze making her breath catch.

“You want more levels?” My voice drops. “I have five more designed, each more intense than the last.”

She bites her lower lip, and I nearly groan at the sight.

“But I’ll create a hundred more if that’s what you want,” I continue, brushing my thumb across her cheek. “A thousand. I’ll build worlds for you to conquer and challenges to overcome. Whatever twisted fantasy you can imagine, I’ll make it a reality.”

The devotion in my voice surprises even me. I’d planned to break her to make her mine. Instead, seeing her broken at my hand unraveled me, and now she’s claimed me completely.

“I’ll do anything for you, Kira. Anything.” The words feel ripped from somewhere deep. “The levels, normal dates, quiet nights at home. All of it.”

Her eyes shine with tears. “You mean it?”

I take her face in my hands, gentle yet firm. “I’ve never meant anything more. You own me now. All my skills, resources, and obsessions are yours to command.”

She smiles, that small, genuine smile that makes my chest ache.

“I think I’d like that,” she says, her voice stronger than before. “The levels could be between real life and us learning about each other.”

The tension between us shifts, softens into comfort. She takes another bite of pasta, laughter suddenly dancing in her eyes.

“So tell me about Level Eight,” she says casually, as if asking about the weather. “Is it as intense as Seven?”

I can’t help but laugh, the sound rusty but real. “Curious, aren’t we? Level Eight is different, but that’s all I’m saying for now.”

She grins, leaning her chin on her hand. “And your favorite game? You know all of mine, but I’ve never asked about yours.”

Kira finishes the last few bites of pasta, closing her eyes briefly with each mouthful. She’s appreciating the food I made for her, a connection that feels oddly more intimate than anything we’ve shared.

“So you never answered,” she says, setting her fork down. “What’s your actual favorite game? Not just the ones you’ve played with me.”

“Dishonored,” I admit, collecting our plates. “The balance between stealth and chaos, the multiple paths. Every decision has consequences.”

Kira’s eyes light up. “That tracks. You’re definitely a calculated chaos kind of guy.”

We leave the dishes in the sink, which I’d never normally do, but tonight I can’t bear to waste a minute away from her. I guide her to the living room, my hand resting lightly on the small of her back.

“I have every streaming service known to man,” I tell her as we collapse onto the couch. “Take your pick.”

She selects some mindless action movie—but within minutes, we’re turned toward each other, the TV nothing but colored light and background noise.

“What was the first game you ever played?” she asks, tucking her feet under my thigh.

“Doom, on my dad’s computer. Before things went bad.” The honesty slips out before I can stop it. “You?”

“Super Mario World. I was five and terrible at it.” Her laugh is soft, unguarded.

We trade stories like precious gems—her first console, my first hack, the games that saved us when reality was too harsh. I’ve memorized her life from surveillance and research, but hearing it from her lips makes everything new.

“I just realized something,” Kira says, her head resting against my shoulder. “This is the longest I’ve gone without conventionally gaming in years.”

I tense slightly. “I’m sorry?—”

“No,” she interrupts, placing her hand on mine. “I’ve been playing your game instead, but it’s different. More intense. Real.” She looks up at me, vulnerability and strength mingling in her eyes. “Maybe better.”

I brush my thumb across her knuckles, cataloging this moment. Another piece of her I never expected to possess.

Her expression shifts as she considers something, her brow furrowing.

“So what happens next?” she asks, fingers tracing idle patterns on my forearm.

The thought of her returning to that apartment sends a jolt through me. I’ve dismantled most of the surveillance equipment there, but not all.

“You could commute to work,” I say carefully, measuring each word. “From here to work and back.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Are you asking me to move in with you? Before we’ve even had our first official date?”

A teasing lilt in her voice makes warmth unfurl in my chest. This is new territory—the playful banter, the undefined boundaries. I’ve mapped out every scenario except where she willingly chooses to stay.

“I am.” I run my thumb across her lower lip. “Unconventional, I know. But when have we done anything by the book?”

She laughs, the sound light and genuine. “That’s putting it mildly.” Her fingers curl around mine. “Most couples meet on dating apps. We met because you stalked me and kidnapped me.”

“I prefer ‘aggressively pursued.’” I smirk, then grow serious. “You could keep your place as I was bluffing about clearing it out. Go there whenever you need space. But yes, I want you here.”

“Moving in together before our first date.” She shakes her head, but she’s smiling. “Only us.”

I pull her closer, drinking in the reality of her. “I’ve never been good at maintaining normal boundaries when it comes to you.”

I feel her body shift against mine, settling into my side as if she’s always belonged there. The weight of her, warm and real, makes something in my chest expand. I’ve mapped her body’s measurements down to the millimeter and planned for every possible outcome—except this one. Her willingness changes everything.

“I’ll need to get some things from my apartment,” she says, looking up at me. “Clothes, my gaming setup...”

“Of course.” I run my fingers through her hair, savoring the silky texture. “I can have everything brought here tomorrow.”

“I should probably get it myself,” she counters, a hint of steel in her voice. “I need to give notice to my landlord and explain to a few people... including Jenna.”

Jenna. Her friend. The variable I hadn’t fully accounted for.

“She’ll notice I’m gone,” Kira continues. “I can’t disappear without a word.”

I consider the possibilities, running scenarios through my mind. “She won’t approve.”

“No.” Kira’s laugh is soft but certain. “She definitely won’t.”

I tilt her chin up. “Will that change your mind?”

“No.” Her answer is immediate, unwavering. “This is my choice. My life.”

My fingers find the pulse point in her neck, feeling it quicken. “I don’t share well, Kira. Not even with best friends.”

“I’m not asking you to share.” She shifts, turning to face me fully. “But I won’t cut people out of my life. You can’t expect that.”

My instinct is to refuse. It’s what I’ve always done. The determined set of her jaw tells me this is non-negotiable.

“I’ll compromise,” I say finally. “You maintain your friendships, but our relationship—what happens between us—stays private.”

Relief softens her features. “Deal.”

I pull her closer, pressing my lips to her forehead. Her scent—sweet orange blossom soap—fills my senses.

“Tomorrow we’ll get your things,” I murmur against her skin. “Tonight, you’re mine.”