by Zoe Forward
Don’t Game Me
The Game Lords
Zoe Forward
ISBN 978-1-7332429-3-6
Copyright © 2019 by Zoe Forward
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Edited by Tera Cuskaden
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Cover design © 2019 by Quincy Marin
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All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now knows or hereafter invented included xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of author.
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
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The Game Lords, Book Two
Published in the United States of America.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Sneak peek
1
The empty baggage claim carousel squeaked along its serpentine path. Her wedding date’s plane had landed at LaGuardia twenty minutes before hers, and rendezvous was scheduled for right here at his carousel. Right now.
Rebecca Harrison texted: I’m here. Where are you?
She’d wanted them on the same flight, but he’d gotten a last-minute cheapflight.com deal. Flights from San Diego were expensive. She got that.
Her grip on the rollaboard tightened as she waited for a reply. Her only company at the still-moving carousel was a few roughed-up unclaimed suitcases.
A buzz signaled an incoming call. Caller ID: Pascal Nordin.
Her boss.
The bottom dropped out of her stomach. Pascal had commanded she take a fellow intern of his choosing as her wedding date. The order stepped way over the employer-employee personal line, but so did everything about the past eight months of her life as an intern at GenShare. Her “date” might be a good friend and a sweet guy with genius skills as a cloud computing analyst, but she and Stuart as a couple? Tough sell. They liked the same guys. Pascal didn’t know that, or if he did, didn’t care.
“Hello? Pascal?” She pressed the phone tight against her ear. No greeting came back. Calling her boss by his first name still felt as awkward as it had the first time he’d insisted she do so while in his bizarre ultramodern office with a fireplace. Who in Southern California used a fireplace? And at work, no less. At first, she thought him a progressive employer attempting to create an open, welcoming atmosphere but later realized it was a part of the con to make people relax around him.
Maybe the call had been dropped, or the high level of ambient noise around her drowned out his response. Her tone notched up an octave. “Sir?”
“There’s been a change,” Pascal’s smoke-worn voice croaked.
“Where’s Stuart? I’m here. He’s not.” Please, please let Stuart’s connection in Colorado have been delayed. He would’ve texted if so.
“He had a…” Her heart pounded through the pause before her boss said, “Loyalty conflict.”
Stuart was dead.
Morbid to jump to that conclusion. Maybe he’d been fired. How optimistic and full of rainbow unicorn bullshit was that concept. Loyalty conflict was code for game over. As in murdered or fake suicide or unusual accident. The terror of being next on the “loyalty conflict” list, of being scheduled for eradication by the global organized crime group who owned Pascal, paralyzed her into remaining in this crap internship. Well, that and going to jail. They had a video of her committing corporate espionage.
Damn her pride for designing the dangerous program, and double damn her naiveté when they tricked her into using it. All she’d done was walk into the lobby of what she’d been told was a “sister company” for a benign test run. She’d opened the program and boom, GenShare was in their mainframe. They stole turbine designs critical for cutting-edge jet engines and sold the information to the Chinese. The U.S. Department of Justice had the breach under investigation. One little leak from GenShare with her name involved, and game over for her.
“Where’s Stuart?” She swallowed through the lump lodged in her throat. Had Pascal gotten wind of their plan to escape his grip? Stuart wouldn’t whistleblow. That was guaranteed death.
No one double-crossed Pascal or the mysterious underground eGaming kingpin who owned Pascal and forced GenShare employees to play on an illegal gaming circuit. Months ago, when they discovered her talent at video gaming, they shifted her away from software engineering into gaming team training during the day to improve her performance on game nights. At first, she’d been flattered. Later, when her brother, Kaleb, had been sucked into the same gaming scenario on the opposite coast and murdered for refusing to cooperate, she realized she needed to get out.
She should’ve been finishing her master’s degree at Berkley, not interning in Southern California for an “innovative” tech company—aka invasive spy tech—and forced into playing and gambling on an illegal eGaming circuit a few nights a week. This wasn’t fantasy football or poker. It was high stakes multi-player character online games.
“Stuart had an accident on the way to the airport.” Pascal’s tone conveyed sadness, not that she believed it for a second.
“What happened?”
“New plan. You’re going to do what we planned for Stuart.”
Her hands curled into her phone. “Is he…dead?”
“Stuart’s gone.”
“Why’s he gone?”
“We’d just fired him. He was planning to leave us, so we figured we’d beat him to the punch. He must’ve been driving upset or something.”
She shivered. They knew Stuart planned to get away from them. How? They’d been so cautious with their plan. They must know she was involved too.
Pascal said. “You’re going to get close to Jake Allen. Be his wedding date.”
“Jake Allen? You mean, the best man? I guarantee he’s got a date.” She wasn’t some sort of secret agent or super spy who could take orders to commit crimes on their behalf. Would she if they asked? Her hands shook to the point she struggled to keep the phone level with her ear. If she said no, she could end up in the same afterlife as Stuart or arrested by the Department of Justice for corporate espionage. A yes from her meant she’d hurt people she cared about.
“Jake is at carousel six. We’ve taken care of things to create an opportunity.”
He was here? Her gaze darted left to where the carousels increased in number. “I don’t need to be Jake’s date to be close to him. I’m the groom’s sister. I’ve known Jake for years.”
“We need you to be very close to him. More details will come later.”
“I can’t
go as Jake’s date. He and I…” The line went dead. Don’t get along.
The phone slipped out of her hands. With a lunge, she caught it before she shattered yet another screen. Score on a great catch, but to prevent landing on her face, her toe jammed into her rollaboard. Ouch.
She shoved her phone into the front pouch of the carry-on and massaged her toe through her boot.
Very close to him? As in flirting or an actual hookup? She and the relationship-adverse, one-night-stand aficionado, Jake, stood worlds apart on their concept of romance. They were so far apart that they usually ended up in a vicious argument whenever in proximity, which happened several times a year since her parents had accepted Jake as part of the family six years ago when he and her brother started a video game company. Her older brothers might think of Jake as another brother, but not her.
Jake drove her batty to the point she usually ended up in a disagreement with him over trivialities. The fact he was hotter than a Carolina Reaper pepper meant she’d never label him a brother-type.
Pascal wanted her to seduce Jake? Sweat broke out on her back. She didn’t know how to do that. She might not be a twenty-six-year-old virgin, but her one boyfriend—yep, one and only—in undergrad hadn’t been a romance superstar. As a fellow engineer, they’d spent dates playing video games or writing apps. Bedroom antics had been tepid at best. She’d been happy when he got a job in Canada after they graduated—perfect excuse to break up. The whole relationship had done zip to hone her seduction skills.
Calm down. Pascal hadn’t said seduce Jake. He’d said get close. As Jake’s wedding date. The way he’d said wedding date implied she do a hell of a lot more than witty banter and drunk dancing at the reception.
Her seduce a man like Jake who had regular liaisons with A-listers and supermodels? Impossible. Okay, maybe his preferred “dates” wasn’t the reason it’d be hopeless. As her brother’s best man and co-CEO, a huge neon sign flashed above him with the words off limits.
Carousel six. Good Lord, the crowd around it was thick.
She could not be considering following Pascal’s order.
She was.
No choice. She could handle a kiss or two with someone as hot as Jake to avoid jail…or death.
A tall guy stood with his back to her gazing into the hoard of people crowded around the carousel.
Who knew forearms could be so sexy as the guy lifted to push his sunglasses up into his lightly gelled, dirty-blond hair. The holy-crap-he’s-hot didn’t stop at the arms. Those wide shoulders, toned body… This guy deserved a few extra seconds of appreciation even amid her life implosion.
An interwoven geometric design on his mid-forearm caught her eye. It looked like the emblem for Zoneworld Warrior, the first über-successful game her brother’s company, NJ Legacy, launched. The game made them an international success in months. Perhaps he was a fellow gaming enthusiast.
Wait. She knew that particular tattoo. And those arms.
His head swiveled. Caught her staring.
She recognized the blue stare.
Jake Allen.
Target acquired. What a dolt not to recognize him right away.
“Uh, hey.” She managed a smile to hide the nausea and stress rolling through her. Jake would assume she got stood up the moment she mentioned her date no-showed, which was a sparkly platter of gift-wrapped retaliation material. After she’d ripped into him for bringing one of his dippy one-nighters to her parents’ Christmas Eve dinner this year, he’d be itching for payback.
Christmas. Eight months ago. The last time she’d been free of Pascal, GenShare, and illegal video gaming.
Her phone dinged with an incoming message from Pascal: Get close.
“Becca?”
She jumped and snapped, “What?”
“What’re you doing here?” His gaze dropped down her body, probably finding humor in her travel-rumpled sweater and jeans. Every time she faced Jake, he caught her at her worst, and right now she’d hit rock bottom. If she’d known he would be at the other end of the flight and that the gaming underworld she’d become an unwilling participant in was going to target him, she might’ve skipped the wedding altogether.
When Jake’s gaze returned to hers, there was no laughter. Something sensual lingered.
Her mind stalled out like a ’90s clunker refusing to turn over. Was it her imagination or might he be open to them as a date? A yes scared the hell out of her. She preferred his standard open hostility or disdain. Her fear was multifaceted, populated first by unwillingness to deceive him if she took part in Pascal’s plan, and second by the activation of a few off-limits fantasies starring Jake’s remarkable arms.
Jake’s gaze dissolved into his standard coolness, although there was a hint of bewilderment.
She rushed to say, “I just got in.”
Obviously, he figured that out.
His confused look deepened. “You’re here?”
“I live in California. Had to take a plane to get here.” No change in Jake’s confused expression. “The wedding, remember? The same wedding you’ll be attending as the best man. My brother?”
“Right.” His eyes returned to the crowd into which he’d been staring before. He glanced at his phone.
“You okay?”
“She was supposed to be here.” He scrolled through screens on his phone.
“Who was supposed to be here?”
His phone dinged with an incoming text. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
“What’s wrong?”
He glanced up. “Nothing.”
“Who were you supposed to pick up?” Dread twisted her gut.
“My wedding date.”
Who hadn’t showed because something happened to her. Please don’t let her be dead too.
Jake typed on his phone. “She broke her ankle in a freak fall and isn’t coming.”
“That sounds awful. The same thing just happened to me. Well, not the fall, but my date didn’t show.”
“Your date bailed?”
She rocked her head back and forth to signal sort-of. “He won’t be making it.”
“That sucks.” Jake sent a text and blew out a long, agitated breath. “Guess you need a ride?”
Her spine snapped tight. No way was she doing anything to get “close” with Jake when he used that tone. “I’m not your problem. I’ll get a cab.”
“Your mother will chew me out if I leave you here. Come on.”
“I’m good.” She pushed her glasses up her nose as if they were a shield. Although she should smile and accept his offer of a ride, she scowled.
“Does everything have to be an argument with you?” He reached out to get her suitcase.
She pulled it behind her, well out of his reach.
“We’re going in the same direction. You need a ride.” He snagged her rollaboard’s plastic handle and pulled it to him.
“You don’t want to give me a ride.” She tried to grab back her suitcase, failing.
“I do.”
“No, you don’t. It’s all over your face.”
“I just said I did.”
“No. You said you had to because you’re scared of Mom.” She adjusted her glasses again.
He rolled his eyes and stalked toward the exit without replying, suitcase in tow. Given the set of Jake’s mouth, she wasn’t going to win the argument.
She jogged to keep up with him. “Fine. Thanks. I’d like a ride.”
He shot her an agitated glare as he jammed the elevator’s button.
Once in the hourly parking lot, her eyes snagged on a silver supercar. Oh, my. That was a spectacular feat of design. It promised something too fast for this world. What a tragedy to leash the engineering masterpiece in city traffic. Who in the world would park it here and not valet it?
Jake leaned over the supercar’s hood. He popped the trunk and shoved her suitcase inside.
“That’s not your car.” His Mustang suited him, not this ultra-expensive supercar.
&n
bsp; “I borrowed her from a friend to test drive. It’s convinced me the city isn’t the right place for something like her.”
She compressed her lips against the “Well, duh” that itched to break free. I must be nice to him.
The date who didn’t show must’ve been something special if he borrowed this car to show off to her. She’d do anything for ten minutes on the interstate behind the wheel. “I’ll bet she’s fun to drive.”
He flashed her a grin. “Can’t let you, not with your driving record.”
“Two fender benders in POS cars and now I’m a criminal? Come on. I’m a great driver.” She leaned down to look in the window. Tooled red leather interior…gorgeous. “She sure is pretty.”
“You should be illegal.” Something in his tone suggested he didn’t mean her behind the wheel.
This was her imagination in overdrive. She didn’t want to hook up with Jake. Okay, that was a total lie. Any straight woman wanted at least a taste of what this man could offer. She wouldn’t hook up with him under orders from her boss though. Eww.
“Oh, wait,” she said before he closed the hood. “I need something out of the bag.”
She darted in front of him, her thighs tingling where they pressed tight to his legs. She unzipped the outer pouch to excavate her phone. A lacy thong fluttered out as she yanked out the phone. She’d forgotten she’d shoved it in there as an afterthought.
“Oh, no.” She dove for the fugitive underwear, but it flew out of her grasp toward him, caught on a gust of wind from a passing car.
Jake caught the runaway and dangled the black lacy fragment from a forefinger. His mouth twitched upward, but he compressed his lips against a full smile. “Quick underwear change on the plane?”