“This is what you asked for,” I answer. The distortion adds a purr to the words that makes even me feel like a villain. “You said you wanted to be chased. To be caught.”
Her throat works as she swallows. She’s looking everywhere but the right place, her gaze sliding right past the darker pocket of shadow where I’m standing.
My girl’s smart. Her brain just isn’t used to processing this much sensory input at once. That’s fine. That’s what I’m here for—to overwhelm her until the only thing she can focus on is me.
I move along the wall, silent. Years of training are baked into muscle memory. The sim matches the visuals, so it looks like I’m weaving between stacks, slipping behind a column, vanishing, reappearing closer.
Barbara creeps forward, bare feet making the softest sound on the floor. Her avatar’s shiver is mapped straight from her biometric feed. She’s not terrified—her heart rate isn’t that high—but she’s keyed up. On edge.
Exactly where I want her.
She slips through a narrow gap between two pallet stacks and finds herself in a dead-end pocket, three walls of virtual lumber rising around her. One way in. One way out.
Perfect.
She realizes it half a second too late.
“Shit,” she breathes, backing up until her shoulders hit wood.
I step into the mouth of the gap.
Her head jerks up and her eyes lock on me—on the mask, the simulated black clothes, the neon lines pulsing faintly along my sleeves and chest. For a second, she doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe.
Then she steps left. The sim prevents it—no holes, no secret exit. She steps right. Same thing.
She’s trapped.
Heat surges low in my body, primal and possessive.
Mine.
I built this space, designed this trap, lured her right here. All she has to do now is take the last two steps into my arms.
She lifts her chin, bravado kicking in. “You cheated,” she accuses. “You herded me.”
Her voice shakes just enough to betray her.
“Absolutely,” I say. I prowl into the gap, slow and deliberate, eating up the distance between us one step at a time. “You think I’d leave this to chance?”
She doesn’t move, but her fingers curl into fists at her sides. “What now?” she demands. “You drag me back to your villain lair?”
“Oh, baby, this is my villain lair,” I remind her. “And you’re right where you’re supposed to be.”
I can see every tiny micro-expression thanks to the cameras in her goggles—the way her eyes keep darting to my hands, the slight wobble in her knees, the way her chest rises faster than it should.
“Last chance, firecracker,” I say quietly as I close the final few steps. “You want out, you say it now. We go home. No questions, no jokes. I’ll tuck you into bed and make you pancakes tomorrow.”
She swallows again, her throat bobbing. For a moment, I think she might say it. Call it off.
Then her eyes flash. There’s the Barbara I know and love.
“We’re staying,” she whispers.
Yes.My control snaps like a cut wire, and I surge forward.
She bolts left on instinct, but there’s nowhere to go. I catch her around the waist, turning my body so I take the brunt of the momentum as we slam into the pallet wall. The haptics cushion the impact, but it still knocks the breath out of her in a little gasp.
She bucks in my arms, furious and frantic, and God, I love her for it. I hook one leg behind hers, shift my weight, and we go down together in a controlled tumble, the sim translating it into a rough drag over dirt and splinters.
