Page 102 of Game Over

“It’s okay,” he murmurs against my hair. “Let it out.”

So I do. I cry for the little girl I was, for the innocence stolen, for the years spent afraid and ashamed. I cry for the woman I might have been if not for my uncle’s violations. I cry until my throat is raw and my tear-swollen eyes burn.

Through it all, Ryker holds me, his strong arms keeping me from flying apart completely. When my sobs finally quiet to hiccuping breaths, he tilts my face up to his.

“He can never hurt you again,” he says, wiping away my tears with his thumbs. “He’s gone.”

“Because of you,” I whisper, a new emotion surging through me—gratitude so intense it’s almost painful. “You did this for me.”

“I would do anything for you,” Ryker says, his voice rough with emotion. “Anything to keep you safe. To make you happy.”

The intensity in his eyes takes my breath away. This complicated, dangerous, brilliant man has done what no one else in my life ever could. He believed me, protected me, and eliminated the source of my deepest pain.

“I love you,” I say, the words feeling inadequate for the depth of my feelings. “I know that’s crazy. I know some might say it’s wrong. But I do.”

“There’s nothing wrong about it,” he says fiercely, his hands framing my face. “What’s between us—it’s the only thing in my life that’s ever felt right.”

I surge forward, claiming his mouth with mine. The kiss is desperate, grateful, and filled with countless emotions. His arms tighten around me as he responds with equal fervor, lifting me effortlessly.

I wrap my legs around his waist as he carries me to the bedroom, our lips never breaking contact. The need to be close to him, to feel his skin against mine, is formidable—a physical ache that only he can soothe.

When he lays me on the bed, I pull him down with me, unwilling to let go even for a moment. My fingers fumble with the buttons of his shirt, desperate to feel his warmth.

“Slow down,” he murmurs against my lips, his hands gently capturing mine. “We have all night.”

“I need you,” I beg. “Please, Ryker. I need to feel you.”

Something in my tone must convey my desperation because his resistance crumbles. He helps me with his buttons, shrugging off his shirt to reveal the tattooed expanse of his chest. My fingers trace the Ghost mask inked over his heart—the symbol of his devotion that still takes my breath away.

Our clothes fall away piece by piece, discarded carelessly on the floor. When we’re finally skin to skin, I sigh with relief, as if a physical connection was all I needed to feel whole again.

Ryker’s touch is reverent as he explores my body, his lips following the path of his hands. Every kiss feels like worship, every caress a promise. This isn’t the rough claiming I’ve come to expect from him—this is deeper, more profound.

“You’re safe now. You’re mine, and you’re safe.”

Tears well in my eyes again, but these are born of gratitude and love rather than pain. When he finally joins our bodies, the sensation is boundless. I cling to him, nails digging into his shoulders as he moves within me, each thrust driving away the last shadows of my past.

“Look at me,” Ryker commands gently, his hand cradling my face. “Stay with me.”

I open my eyes, meeting his gaze as we move together. The intensity there steals my breath—love, possession, and the darkness in his soul, the one that matches the twisted parts of my soul.

“You saved me,” I admit. “You freed me.”

“We saved each other,” he corrects, his rhythm never faltering. “You showed me what it means to love something more than control.”

His words make me spiral toward the edge, pleasure building with each precise movement of his hips. I’m vaguely aware of the sounds escaping my throat—desperate, needy sounds that would embarrass me with anyone else.

“That’s it,” he encourages, his voice strained as he nears release. “Let go, Kira. I’ve got you.”

And I do. I shatter beneath him, around him, my body convulsing with wave after wave of pleasure. He follows moments later, my name a prayer on his lips as he collapses against me, our bodies slick with sweat and tears.

As we lie tangled together in the aftermath, my uncle’s face flashes through my mind one last time—not the still, lifeless version from Ryker’s phone, but the smug, confident man who tormented my childhood. The man who no longer exists.

“He’s really gone,” I murmur against Ryker’s chest, the reality of it still sinking in.

“Forever,” Ryker confirms, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on my back. “You never have to think about him again.”

But I know I will—not with fear or shame, but with a strange sense of closure. The monster from my nightmares has been vanquished, not by time, therapy, or forgiveness, but by the man holding me now.

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