Page 17 of Game Over

“But what?”

“There was just something about him.” I turn to the city lights that blur past the window. “Something familiar, but I can’t place it. And the way he said he’d been watching me... it creeped me out, but also?—”

“Turned you on?” Jenna finishes, raising an eyebrow.

I nod, embarrassed. “What’s wrong with me? I’m attracted to someone waving red flags in my face?”

“Nothing’s wrong with you.” Jenna’s voice softens. “The fantasy is hot. The reality would probably be a nightmare. That’s why we have brains and not just hormones—so we can make good choices even when our bodies are like,‘Yes, please, dangerous stranger!’”

I laugh, the tension breaking. “My body was definitely saying that.”

“And yet you walked away. That’s growth, my friend.” She bumps my shoulder with hers. “Now, let’s go have fun without mysterious, silent men who are probably planning to wear your skin as a hat.”

“Gross!” I shove her playfully, but her words sink in. I did walk away. Despite the attraction, despite the pull I felt, I chose safety.

As we ride toward the next club, I can’t help but glance back once, half-expecting to see those intense blue eyes following us. The street behind us is empty, but the sensation of his eyes on me lingers like a phantom caress.

7

RYKER

Iclench my jaw as Kira stumbles into another taxi with her friend Jenna. Seeing other men gawking at her at the club made my blood boil. I couldn’t risk speaking more than a few words to her on the dance floor because she’d recognize my voice from our gaming sessions. But feeling her body against mine, knowing she had no idea who I was... the power was intoxicating.

“Follow that cab,” I tell my driver, adjusting the Ghost mask in my jacket pocket and tightening my grip on my suit bag, which houses my cosplay outfit. The voice modulator sits ready, though I won’t need it unless I make my presence known.

My fingers drum against my phone screen as I track her location through the spyware I installed. The blue dot moves steadily across the map. She’s heading to Neon, that new club downtown. The security there is a joke. I’ve already mapped every exit, blind spot, and surveillance camera in preparation for the convention.

“Should’ve stayed home, Mischief,” I mutter, remembering how she felt in my arms. She melted against me, unaware that her online teammate, Rogue, was there. The same man who made her obediently come undone with my voice.

The taxi pulls up half a block from Neon. Kira and Jenna join the line, their laughter carrying across the street. My hands curl into fists. Tomorrow is the convention, and I can finally drop this charade and claim what’s mine.

For now, I’ll stick to the shadows. Make sure no one else touches her. These clubs are full of predators who don’t deserve to breathe the same air as her.

I slip away from the crowd and locate the men’s restroom in the back corner of the club. Perfect timing—it’s empty. I lock the main door, place my suit bag on the hook, and unzip it carefully. The Ghost cosplay I’ve spent over a year getting right waits inside, every detail accurate.

First, I pull out the compression shirt with tactical padding sewn in to enhance my already muscular frame. The material hugs my skin as I strip off my club shirt and replace it with the base layer of my costume. Next come the custom tactical pants and boots—each piece selected to match Ghost’s appearance while maintaining full mobility. I need to be able to move quickly when the moment comes.

“Perfect,” I muse, examining my reflection in the bathroom mirror.

The voice modulator is a military-grade engineering masterpiece with my own modifications. I position it carefully against my throat, securing the nearly invisible band around my neck. A quick test confirms it’s working, dropping my voice to the British growl Ghost is known for.

“Mischief,” I test, hearing the character’s British accent emerge from my throat. The same voice that will soon command her every move.

Finally, the mask. I lift it from its protective wrapping—a replica of Ghost’s skull face covering. I’ve tested it dozens of times in my apartment, ensuring peripheral vision isn’t compromised. The mask slides into place, completing my transformation.

I stare at myself in the large mirror. Ghost looks back at me, and it isn’t just a costume—it’s who I am beneath the surface. The predator. The watcher. The one who will claim what belongs to him.

When I return to the main club, Kira’s at the bar with Jenna, laughing over some shared joke. My fingers twitch, remembering how her hips felt when we danced, but I can’t risk touching her again tonight. One slip, one wrong move, and she might connect the dots between the stranger at the club and her gaming partner.

I position myself in a dark corner with a good view without being obvious. The mask helps since plenty of cosplayers hit the clubs before conventions. I’m just another fan getting into character early.

A guy in a leather jacket approaches the table they’ve just found. My jaw clenches as he leans close to Kira, trying to get her attention. She shakes her head, but he persists.

My hand slides into my pocket, touching my phone. One tap and I could trigger the fire alarm and clear the club, but there’s a part of me that wants blood.

The leather jacket guy’s hand reaches for Kira’s arm. My vision goes red. Six quick strides and I’m there, my fingers wrapping around his wrist before he touches her.

“She said no.” The voice modulator turns my words into Ghost’s signature rasp.

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