Page 40 of Game Over

KIRA

My eyelids flutter open, my mind swimming through a fog. A familiar ceiling comes into focus—my ceiling. No... not mine. His version of mine. The recognition hits with a sickening lurch in my stomach.

I’m back inRyker’stwisted replica of my bedroom.

I test my limbs, finding my wrists secured to the bedposts with padded restraints. It’s not tight enough to hurt, but snug enough to remind me I’m not going anywhere. The attention to detail makes this so fucked up. Every poster matches mine exactly. My limited-edition Horizon figurines line the shelf in formation. Even my ancient stuffed penguin sits in the corner chair, watching with judging button eyes.

“Hey, Peng,” I mutter, my voice cracking. “You’re not real either, are you?”

A hysterical laugh bubbles up before dissolving into a sob. I’m talking to a stuffed animal in a fake bedroom created by my stalker. This cannot be my life.

I squeeze my eyes shut to block out the uncanny horror. The duplicate room is terrifying, like looking in a mirror where your reflection blinks when you don’t.

The maze. I remember running naked through that concrete labyrinth,Rykerhunting me like an animal. The humiliation burns fresh. He caught me, of course. He was always going to catch me. The game was rigged from the start. And then... God, what he did to me when he caught me...

My body shudders involuntarily. That’s the most terrifying part—how my body responded to him despite my mind screaming in protest. What kind of person does that make me?

The sound of footsteps outside makes my heart slam against my ribs. I tug harder at the restraints, knowing it’s useless, but unable to stop myself from trying.

“Level three.” Footsteps pause outside my door. “What sick game is level three?”

The door opens, andRykerfills the frame. He’s changed since the maze—a clean black t-shirt stretches across his chest, dark jeans hanging just right. His hair is damp like he just showered. The normality of his appearance makes this all so much worse.

“You’re awake.” His voice is soft. The same voice that guided me through countless game battles. The same voice that called me“Mischief”when I pulled off a particularly impressive kill shot.

I turn my face away, unable to look at him without seeing flashes of what happened in the maze. “Let me go,Ryker.”

“We both know that’s not what you really want.” He crosses to the bed and sits on the edge. The mattress dips under his weight. His hand hovers over my ankle before landing, warm and heavy. “Your pupils are dilated. Your skin is flushed.”

“It’s called fear.” I try to sound angry, but my voice betrays me with a tiny crack.

“I know the difference between your fear and your arousal.”

A shiver races up my spine. I hate that he can read me so easily. I hate even more that he might be right about what my body is feeling, even as my mind recoils from him.

“This is kidnapping. This is abuse. This is?—”

“A fantasy you’ve had for a while.”Rykercuts me off, his voice carrying a quiet certainty that crawls under my skin. “You’ve spoken it to your vibrator at three a.m. Typed it in incognito tabs.”

My face burns hot. How much has he seen?

“You don’t know anything about me,” I spit, renewed anger strengthening my voice. “You’re not normal.”

A shadow crosses his face. For a split second, something almost vulnerable flickers in his eyes.

“Normal is a setting on a washing machine.” His fingers drum against my ankle in a pattern I recognize—the same rhythm he taps out when waiting for a game to load. “Normal people don’t notice when you say you’re fine, but your voice pitches higher. Normal people don’t care that you sleep with three pillows because you hate feeling alone.”

My breath catches. I never told anyone that.

“You don’t know me.”

Rykerleans closer, his scent—pine and musk—filling my senses. “I know you cry during commercials with suffering dogs and restart levels when NPCs die, even when it doesn’t affect gameplay. I know you hum the Tetris theme when you’re nervous.”

He reaches up and brushes a strand of hair from my face, his touch feather-light. I flinch away, pressing my head into the pillow to escape his fingers.

“Don’t touch me,” I hiss, finding a spark of defiance.

Something dangerous flashes in his eyes. “I have every right. You’re mine,Kira. You have always been. You just didn’t know it yet.” His lips curve into a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

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