Chapter 13 Barbara
BARBARA
My silence stretches for a few seconds too long. Ethan knows it. Hell, Ethan feeds on it. The smug bastard lounges half-on, half-over me like he owns the furniture, the walls, the oxygen in the room—and me. Especially me.
“I hate you,” I mutter, even though my hips are still twitching involuntarily, every muscle trembling from the powerful orgasm he finally let me have.
“You screamed my name so loud I’m surprised your neighbors haven’t filed a noise complaint,” he says with a wolfish smirk. “I’ll take the hate.”
I shove at his chest. Not because I want him off, but because if he stays on top of me like that—warm, heavy, satisfied—my brain will confuse post-sex stupidity for actual romance.
His muscles don’t budge. Of course they don’t. He probably weighs as much as a small motorcycle.
“Get off,” I huff.
He lifts one brow. “Say please.”
“No,” I say sharply.
Ethan smirks. “Say you like the way I fuck you.”
“I’m going to get a restraining order.”
His grin widens, lazy and devastating. “Baby, you can’t even walk.”
Okay, fair point. My legs are about as functional as overcooked spaghetti. Still doesn’t mean he gets to be right.
“Get off,” I repeat, smacking his shoulder.
“You hit like a squirrel,” he says fondly, like he thinks that’s endearing.
I scowl. “You’re insufferable.”
He rolls to the side, lying next to me on the couch, one arm folded under his head. He’s still mostly naked. Still smug. Still annoyingly beautiful.
And he keeps watching me. Like he’s memorizing every micro-expression on my face.
I sit up, dragging a blanket over my lap.
Ethan watches the movement, his eyes sharpening. “What’s going on in that pretty brain?”
“Nothing.”
“Lie better,” he drawls.
I sigh and rake my fingers through my hair. “I just… I feel weird.”
He shifts closer. “Weird good?”
“Weird like I don’t know what’s real anymore.”
That gets him to sit up. His hand brushes my thigh—not demanding, not sexual this time. Just grounding.
“You’re real. I’m real. Everything else…” He shrugs. “We figure out.”
God help me, I believe him.
I look away. “I’m not used to this kind of intensity.”
“You mean a man who actually knows how to handle you?”
“Ethan.”
“What?” he asks innocently. “You want sweet? I can do sweet. You want gentle? I can do gentle. You want—”
“I want to decide sometimes,” I cut in sharply. “Not just you bulldozing over every thought I have.”
To my surprise, he goes still. Then—slowly—he nods.
“So tell me what you want.”
I can’t. I won’t.
Except… maybe I want to. Maybe I want to be heard.
I chew on my lip. “Okay… don’t laugh.”
“I won’t.” He leans in, eyes steady. “I swear.”
My stomach flips. He actually means it.
Fine. If he wants honesty…
“I like—” I stop. No, that’s too vulnerable. Too embarrassing. “I have these… fantasies,” I continue.
His pupils dilate. “Go on.”
I lift my chin. I can do this. “Fantasies about… being chased.”
His inhale is sharp enough to cut the air.
“And caught,” I finish with a whisper.
He exhales through his nose like he’s holding himself back from pouncing.
“You want a primal chase,” he says, voice low and reverent. “Fuck.”
My cheeks grow hot. “Don’t make it weird.”
“Barbara, everything about you is weird,” he says. “Weird and perfect.”
I throw a pillow at his head.
He catches it one-handed and smirks. “Tell me more.”
“I just… want… gritty,” I say haltingly. “Just… something intense. Something…” I wave a hand, frustrated. “Atmospheric.”
That’s when Ethan’s expression shifts.
Feral. Focused. Predatory.
“You want atmosphere?” he murmurs. “I can give you atmosphere.”
“Oh no,” I say immediately. “What does that look mean?”
He rises from the couch with predatory grace, grabbing his half-torn shirt from the floor. “Get dressed.”
“No.”
“We’re leaving.”
“Absolutely not.”
He’s already buckling his pants up. “Shoes, firecracker.”
“Where are we going? It’s—” I look around for my phone. Who knows where I dropped it, though. “—whatever time it is!”
He laughs, the sound wicked. “To my warehouse.”
“What warehouse?”
Is he going to murder me and hang my severed body parts from meat hooks?
“The training one,” he says, interrupting my final-girl spiraling. “Killian and I use it for sims and drills. Big space. Full VR environment. I built a custom horror game in it last year just to mess with the guys.”
I blink. “You… built a VR horror game?”
He shrugs. “I was bored.”
I stare. “You’re actually insane.”
“You’ll love it,” he says confidently.
“Will I?” I ask doubtfully.
“I’ll wear a mask,” he promises in a honeyed tone.
Oh.
Oh hell. That mask he always wore when sending me pics.
My thighs clench, remembering all the cyber sessions I had with Seb.
“Ethan…”
He leans down, brushing his lips over mine, whispering: “You said you want to be chased. I’m giving you the perfect hunt.”
My heartbeat slams itself against my ribs.
“Do you trust me?” he asks softly.
“No,” I breathe.
He smirks. “Good. You shouldn’t. Get your shoes.”
∞∞∞
The drive is fifteen minutes of silence and sexual tension so thick it could be sold in jars.
When Ethan pulls up to what looks like a massive, repurposed industrial building, I gape.
“This is yours?” I ask in shock.
“Ours,” he corrects. “Killian owns half.”
“So it’s full of gym equipment and military toys?”
“Some.” He presses his thumb to a biometric lock. The door clicks. “And some things only I know how to use.”
Lights flicker on as we step inside. My eyes widen. This isn’t a warehouse—it’s a high-tech fever dream.
It’s a cavernous open space, the concrete walls lined with minimalist projection panels, ceiling rigging, motion trackers, and slender columns with embedded haptic emitters.
The floor is a seamless matte black, lightweight and with shock absorption—like stepping on a high-end martial arts mat that spans an entire football field.
It’s sterile. Cold. Empty. But somehow already humming with danger.
“What is this place?” I whisper.
Ethan steps behind me, close enough for his breath to brush my ear.
“My home away from home,” he murmurs.
I shiver.
He walks forward, pressing a few buttons on a central console. The lights dim to almost nothing.
And then the world changes.
The panels flicker.
The projectors sync.
The floor shifts beneath my feet—not physically, but the illusion is perfect. The walls dissolve into something bigger, darker, dripping with shadow and tension.
A forest at dusk. A storm rolling in. Cold wind that I know is artificial, but still makes my skin pebble.
“Holy shit,” I breathe.
“You like?” Ethan asks casually.
“How is this even—”
“Magic,” he says. “And money. Mostly money.”
He turns to me fully, lifting something off a nearby hook.
A hacker mask. Black, yellow accents, expression frozen in a smile. Terrifying in the way only a lifeless face can be. He slides it on, securing it behind his head, and my breath catches.
Ethan’s voice drops, distorted slightly through what seems to be a modulator. “Undress to your underwear.”
My pulse thunders. “Why?”
“You wanted a chase. Clothing slows you down.”
“Ethan—”
“Barbara.”
Just my name. Just that.
But my knees almost buckle.
Fine. Okay. I asked for this. I wanted this.
I pull my shirt over my head. Drop my shorts. Now I’m standing before him in mismatched underwear like an idiot who had no idea she’d be kidnapped for fantasy roleplay today.
Ethan’s inhale behind the mask is sharp. He takes what looks like a VR headset off a shelf, though it’s black, gleaming, way more high-tech than anything I’ve ever seen.
“Put this on.”
“What is it?” I ask breathlessly.
“You’ll see.”
When he places it over my head and tightens the straps, the world transforms further.
Sounds grow sharper—the wind, cracking branches, rustling leaves.
I swear I can even smell the earth. When I look around, I see what looks like an empty lumber yard.
I know it’s fake, but it looks so real that a gasp catches in my throat.
“This is amazing,” I whisper.
“Look at me,” comes Ethan’s next command.
When I do, my jaw falls open. The hacker mask is there, yes, but he’s wearing matching black cyberpunk clothes and boots with glowing neon yellow lines. Incredible.
He steps back.
“You have sixty seconds,” he says. “Then I’m coming for you.”
My heart stops.
“Run, little bee.”
The lights shift again, and the forest lumberyard darkens. A low, distant growl rolls through the speakers.
I don’t think. I run.
And behind me, I hear his laugh.
Low. Velvety. Predatory.
The hunt has begun.