Page 76 of Game Over

Her muscles relax gradually as I wrap my arms around her, careful of the bruises forming where my fingers gripped her too tightly in the forest. Evidence of my loss of control. I should be disturbed by this failure, but I trace one mark gently with my thumb, concerned.

The water laps against our skin as she shifts, settling comfortably against me. Steam rises around us, clouding the bathroom mirror and obscuring our reflection. Perhaps that’s fitting—I barely recognize myself in these moments.

“Just breathe,” I instruct, though whether I’m talking to her or myself remains unclear.

Her breathing synchronizes with mine, deep and even. I hold her, nothing more. No agenda. No next level. No manipulation. Just this—her body against mine, vulnerable and trusting despite everything. My erection persists, but I make no move to act on it.

For the first time, I’m putting someone else’s needs before my desires.

I hold Kira in the cooling water, her back pressed against my chest, neither of us speaking for several minutes. The intimacy is unfamiliar territory—this unscripted moment beyond my careful planning. I need to understand more, to recalibrate.

“Tell me about your life,” I say, quiet in the steam-filled bathroom.

Kira’s laugh vibrates against my chest, short and incredulous. “Seriously? You know everything about me already, remember? You’ve been in my apartment, computer, and probably my bank accounts.”

“I do,” I admit, my arms tightening slightly around her. “But I want to hear it from you. The things surveillance can’t capture.”

She’s silent for so long that I think she won’t answer. When she finally speaks, her voice carries a different weight.

“On paper, I had the best childhood. Nice neighborhood, good school, mom who decorated for every holiday.” She shifts against me, uncomfortable with the memories. “The records don’t show my mother’s brother—my ‘uncle’ Rob.”

My body tenses at her tone, but I remain silent, letting her continue.

“When I was eleven, he started...” her voice falters. “He would come into my room when he was babysitting. Said it was our special game.”

My vision darkens at the edges, but I force myself to remain still, not to frighten her with my rage.

“I told my mom,” she continues, voice hollow. “She slapped me. Told me I was lying, that I shouldn’t say such horrible things about family. That I’d ruin his life with stories like that.”

Her breath hitches, and I can feel her trembling against me. “Nobody ever knew. I just retreated into gaming. Into fantasy worlds where I could be powerful, where I could be in control of my choices—have some semblance of power, safety even; somewhere I could be in charge of what happened to me.”

A growl builds in my chest, escaping before I can contain it. “I didn’t know that,” I say, my voice dangerously low. “You never searched for it. Never wrote about it. It wasn’t in any of your files.”

“Not everything lives in the digital world, Ryker.”

My arms tighten around her protectively, possessively. “What’s his name? His full name.”

Kira stiffens against me, her body suddenly rigid in the cooling bathwater. “Why do you want to know that? Why does it even matter?”

“Because I won’t rest until he’s brought to justice,” I say with absolute certainty. “Men like that don’t deserve to walk free.”

The irony doesn’t escape me—a kidnapper seeking justice. But this is different. What I’ve done with Kira has purpose, design. What her uncle did was pure predation of an innocent.

Kira shakes her head, water droplets flying from her damp hair. “You can’t do anything, Ryker. It was years ago. No evidence. No proof.”

“I don’t need conventional proof.” My algorithms can destroy a man’s life with less information than a name.

“He still visits for Thanksgiving and Christmas,” she continues. “Mom makes his favorite pumpkin pie. Everyone acts like nothing ever happened.”

My muscles lock, jaw clenching so tight I taste blood where my teeth cut into my cheek. The water around us seems to drop ten degrees with the ice forming in my veins.

“He sits at the table,” she continues, each word driving my rage deeper, “and asks me about my life while my mother smiles and passes the gravy.”

My breathing becomes measured—how it does when I’m most dangerous.

“The family takes photos with him holding the carving knife,” Kira whispers. “I have to stand beside him and smile.”

That’s the detail that breaks me. My arm moves from around her waist to grip the tub’s edge, knuckles white against the porcelain. Code already runs through my head—bank accounts, credit scores, employment records, criminal databases. A man like that has secrets beyond what he did to Kira. I’ll find them all.

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