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Prologue
Future Games
The leather belt bites into my wrists. It creaks as I twist my arms, trying to wriggle free. The tingling in my left shoulder increases as circulation is cut off, the strain from having my arms forced behind my back aching in my muscles.
I ignore the carpet burn, my skin numb from the blast of AC licking my naked body. All but my underwear and bra. They’re drenched with sweat from the struggle.
He’ll be back soon.
Just feet away, my cell phone illuminates. The vibration rumbles the device on the desk, drawing his attention from the other room.
The prong of the belt buckle digs into my flesh as I attempt to jerk one hand free, but it’s too late. He’s picking up the phone and reading the name on the display.
Then, with measured steps, his shiny black shoes echoing through the dark office, he advances and kneels before me. I turn my head away and try to push the gag covering my mouth off with my shoulder.
His hand sinks into my hair. Soft, tenderly, his fingers too smooth as he strokes, conflicting with the rage brewing in his stony eyes. He grips a handful of my hair and yanks my head back, forcing me to stare up into those eyes as he towers over me.
With his other hand, he tugs the gag off. Before I can summon the strength to scream, the bite of cold metal touches beneath my chin, the lethal influence of it tilting my head back farther, clipping my already struggling breaths.
My lips tremble. Against my will, tears sting my eyes. And he loves this. Lowering the gun, he only sets it aside long enough to grab my phone and press it to my ear.
Make him believe it. My only chance to protect him.
He licks his lips before curling them into a smile. “It’s time, Alexis. Make the call.”
Time. Time. Time. Always against me. I close my eyes, allowing the salty tears to leak free. So much time already wasted wondering what I could’ve changed, had I only known the outcome ahead of time.
There’s no cheating fate. I understand this now. But this time…this outcome, I have the power to change.
I have the power.
It’s down to a choice.
I open my eyes.
1
Time Warp
Alexis
Time is relative. In theory, if I traveled fast enough, I could bend the space-time continuum. I could reach into the 3D space of cyberworld and grab ahold of the email I just sent and erase it from existence.
I see it now. Little ones and zeros, bytes of digital information that seem so harmless, flying through space at supersonic speed and detonating on impact, imploding Julia’s inbox and sucking us all into a black hole.
My heart gallops, knocking against my chest in sync with the click click click of the continuous mouse tapping from the girl at the desk next to mine.
I wipe at my brow, taking measured breaths, trying to see the world as a normal person would. This is not a big deal. I am not panicking. No one cares.
Only I care. And since I can neither move faster than the speed of light, nor does my mentor live on a summit of a mountaintop where our two points in time are relative…in the one-dimensional construct of time, I have relatively five minutes to flee the office before Julia opens that email.
While everyone in the office is focused on the news broadcast, their eyes glued to their computer screens awaiting the verdict, I shut down my computer and gather my things, tucking my binders to my chest. Everyone is so invested in the outcome of the case, they won’t notice if I slip out fifteen minutes early.
I’m weaving a path toward the door, mentally counting down the seconds like a ticking time bomb, when a crack of applause erupts, making me drop the binders. Excited shouts fill the sixth floor, and I know we’ve won.
Well, Chase Larkin, god of lawyers, has just won.
I kneel down and stuff one of my binders close to my chest. Reaching for the next, I stall, my gaze landing on the screen across the office. There he is, in all his lawyery glory and sex appeal, standing beside an acquitted Malcolm Bates as he deflects questions from the press.
I didn’t work on the case personally, but I do feel pride for our law firm. Just as quickly, though, shame gathers within me, remembering the despondent expressions of the victims.
Alleged victims.
Now more than ever, I better get my shit straight. I work for a prestigious practice as a first year paralegal, and I need to push all thoughts of victims and the pursuit of truth aside. It’s not about the truth—or even justice—it’s about what you can prove.
Julia taught me that the first day of my internship, and I’ve been reciting it all day, prepping myself to send that damn email with an attachment—my submission that needs to prove just how good I am at my job.
