Page 59 of Game Over

The thrill of outsmarting him sends adrenaline coursing through my veins. I imagine the shock on his face when he realizes I’ve maneuvered behind him. For once, I’ll be the one in charge.

I smile, quieting my footsteps as I navigate a cluster of saplings. So focused on my brilliant plan that I miss the subtle differences in the forest floor ahead.

One step. Two. The ground feels oddly springy beneath my feet.

The world suddenly inverts.

A violent whoosh of air, my stomach lurches, and I’m airborne—then suspended, tangled in rough rope that bites into my skin. The net closes around me, hoisting me three feet above the forest floor.

“No!” I thrash against the bindings, but each movement makes the ropes dig deeper into my flesh. My plan is shattered in seconds.

Defeat washes over me as I hang helplessly, swinging slightly with each futile struggle. The reality is humbling—he anticipated this move. He knew me better than I knew myself.

The sound of unhurried footsteps approaches through the underbrush. My breath catches as Ryker emerges from the trees, a predatory smile playing across his lips.

“Double-back strategy, Mischief? Classic you,” he says. “I’d have been disappointed if you hadn’t tried it.”

I hang suspended in the net, my body contorted into a grotesque display as the ropes bite into my flesh. Realization dawns with sickening clarity—how the net has caught me, legs spread, body accessible through the gaps in the rope pattern. I’m completely exposed. Vulnerable. The thin robe that barely covered me before now hangs open where the rough hemp has pulled it apart.

“Let me down!” My voice cracks as I thrash against my bindings.

Ryker circles beneath me, eyes dark with predatory intent. “The more you struggle, the tighter it gets.”

He’s right. Each movement cinches the ropes deeper into my skin, red indentations forming. I freeze, breathing hard as he pulls a hunting knife from his belt. The blade gleams in the dappled forest light.

“Don’t,” I plead, a new kind of panic flooding my system.

His smile is all teeth. “Trust me.”

The net sways as he approaches. I renew my struggles despite the pain, desperate now. “No! Ryker, stop!”

The knife slices through the air, and I flinch, expecting pain. Instead, I feel the subtle give of rope. He’s cutting carefully, methodically, maintaining the structure that holds me suspended while creating a strategic opening between my legs.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, eyes fixated on his handiwork.

The cool flat of the blade suddenly presses against my inner thigh. I gasp, muscles tensing. He drags the knife’s smooth side up my leg, never breaking skin but threatening with every inch. My body responds to the caress with shameful heat.

“The hunter claims his prize,” Ryker says, dragging the knife across my stomach, between my breasts, up to my neck. “And you, Mischief, are exactly where I planned for you to be.”

I feel tears of frustration burn behind my eyes. Even my brilliant strategy was anticipated and worked into his sick game. The knife travels back down my body, and I shudder, suspended and helpless in his forest trap.

I hang suspended, as Ryker’s knife creates strategic openings in the rope net. My body trembles from fear, anticipation, and darkness I don’t want to name.

“You really thought you could outsmart me?” His voice carries an edge that sends shivers down my spine. “I know every move you’d make before you make it.”

I should be terrified. I should be fighting, screaming, doing anything but hanging here watching him with wide eyes. The shifting power dynamic and the moments of vulnerability I’ve glimpsed in him have awakened something inside me.

“Fuck you,” I spit, but there’s no conviction behind it.

His laugh is dark. “Soon enough.”

The sound of his zipper sliding down makes my breath catch. My nipples harden beneath the thin robe, heat pooling between my thighs. I’m horrified at my response, yet unable to stop it.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, stepping closer to the net. “Fighting me even while your body begs for me.”

“I’m not—” The lie dies on my lips as his hand reaches through the opening he’s created, fingers tracing along my inner thigh.

“You’re soaked,” he says, voice rough with desire as his fingers brush against my center. “Your body knows what it wants, even if your mind is still catching up.”

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