Game of Death (37 page)

‘Well, you know about my job. You dated Josh.’

‘I know about NextLife. I don’t know much about your role at the company.’

‘I’m not allowed to talk much about what I do.’

‘Because you’re the black-ops end of the business, right? Like Josh’s own little CIA.’

I’m caught off-balance for a minute. ‘I thought you didn’t know much about my role at the company?’

‘Well, I know some. You’d be surprised what you learn when you date a CEO.’ She makes a face at the thought of the time she spent with Josh Pinkerton, but shakes it off
quickly. ‘So, what’s it like crawling around in people’s fantasies all day?’

‘I do less of that than I used to,’ I say. ‘I oversee the operation now, and we have a bunch of people who do the actual GhostWalking.’

‘Still, you must do it sometimes.’

‘Sometimes.’

‘What’s that like?’

I feel a little uncomfortable talking about this, but I push ahead. ‘It’s strange,’ I start. ‘Our users have the ability to live out their greatest desires. They can
experience space flight; they can sit in a Formula One car as it wins a Grand Prix race; they can climb Mount Everest. The possibilities are limitless.’

‘But what’s the point?’ she asks, frowning. ‘That’s what I’ve never really understood.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Take Mount Everest. The whole point of climbing Mount Everest is to make the climb. The whole point is to accomplish something and actually have the experience. What’s the point of
doing that while you’re sitting in a Barcalounger.’

‘But the experience is almost the same. The graphics on our system are so advanced, it’s literally hard to tell the difference.’

‘Doesn’t that make it even worse? It cheapens all of those things we’ve found important and thrilling for our entire existence.’

We pass our first uncomfortable moment. ‘So what else did you learn about the company when you dated Josh?’ I ask, just to move off the awkward conversational island we seem to have
landed on.

‘I learned plenty. Thank God.’

‘What do you mean?’

She looks hard at me. ‘Did you talk to him before you came out here tonight?’

‘What? No. Why would I have?’

‘You work for him. Maybe this is the way you get back in his good graces. Come out here and find out what I know; find out how serious it is.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘Knowledge is power, Nick. I have that power now; I’m not giving it up.’

I finally realize what she’s saying. ‘That’s how you got away from him, isn’t it? Josh isn’t the type to give up something he cares about without a fight. Which
means that you had to know something that would make him back off. Tell me what it was.’

‘Why would I tell you?’

‘Because you trust me.’

‘You’re pretty sure of yourself.’ She says it with a smile.

‘It’s true. I saved your life, and you can see straight through me. Tell me I’m wrong.’

We sit there, looking into each other’s eyes, neither one of us blinking. I can feel her fighting it, but she’s losing the battle. The smile slowly fades, and I see the vulnerability
she’s shown only once before. ‘I can’t tell you you’re wrong,’ she says. ‘I trust you. I’m just not used to that feeling, and it scares me.’

‘I understand that. But it doesn’t change how I feel. I’ll protect you. I’ll always protect you, don’t you get that?’

She nods, and her eyes tear over. She uses a cocktail napkin to soak up the moisture before it spills over onto her cheeks. ‘I know that.’

‘So, what made Josh back off?’

‘What’s the greatest danger with a company like NextLife?’ she asks rhetorically.

‘Greater than a psychopath using the system to murder a bunch of women?’

‘Much greater than that,’ she responds.

I consider the possibilities for a moment. The company has grown so large, the possible ways in which it could be used for nefarious purposes are myriad. ‘I don’t know,’ I say
at last. ‘There’s lots of information on the system that could be used for ugly purposes, if you could connect that information to the individual users.’

Kendra nods solemnly.

‘But that’s why the algorithms are in place, to prevent that from happening.’

‘As long as those algorithms aren’t cracked, everything’s okay then,’ she says in an ominous tone.

‘Are you saying they’ve been cracked?’

‘I’m saying they’re not as secure as NextLife likes to pretend. I’m saying there have been rumors about blackmail and identity theft on NextLife, which could only be
happening if someone knew how to break through those algorithms.’

I let the implications marinade for a moment. ‘If people knew about this, it would kill the company.’

She nods. ‘Only a few people know. They’ve been able to keep it quiet. That’s why Josh backed off.’ She takes another sip of her drink. ‘The company was ultimately
more important to him than his other needs.’

‘What other needs?’

‘The need to have complete control over someone, and to give in to someone else and allow them to have power over him for a time – to completely let go. That was what I gave him.
That was what he needed, and what he tried so hard not to give up.’

‘I wonder where that need comes from?’ I ask idly. ‘We see it all the time in the fantasies our users create.’

She’s holding her drink just under her chin, and she breathes in the aroma. ‘I think it comes from guilt. We all have these desires, these needs that we’re taught from an early
age are wicked – that will lead us into hell. And so, when we’re in control, there’s always this internal governor – the voice inside our heads – that tells us:
that’s too far . . . you shouldn’t be doing that
. If you give over control to someone else, literal physical control, the guilt goes away. We’re not the ones satisfying
these dark needs, someone else is. We’re the victim – the plaything – and we’re at someone else’s will. If you’re with someone who you trust, it’s an
extremely liberating experience.’

‘Who do you trust that much?’

Her smile is defensive. ‘I don’t trust anyone that much. Not really. That’s probably why I’m not naturally inclined in that direction. For me, it’s a business
proposition. I need to know what makes others feel good, if I’m going to be successful at what I do. It’s not about me; it’s about them.’

‘That sounds lonely.’

The smile disappears. ‘It is. If I could find someone to trust, it might be different.’

‘Are you close, do you think?’

‘I may be,’ she says. ‘You?’

‘I don’t know.’

She picks up her drink and swallows the last of it. ‘Let’s find out.’ She stands and takes a hotel card out of her purse, puts it on the table. ‘Room 813. Wait fifteen
minutes and then meet me there.’ She leans in close, brushing her cheek against mine. I can feel the soft flutter of her dress against my arm, and smell the subtle fragrance of jasmine.
‘Trust me,’ she whispers. She kisses my lips softly. ‘Trust yourself.’

I’m walking down a long corridor with high ceilings, numbered doors on both sides. The second whiskey I ordered while waiting downstairs at the bar warms my extremities
and lightens my head, making it feel as though I’m floating toward the door at the end of the hall. I can feel the pounding in my wrists, the blood sounding out a steady beat in my ears.
It’s all so familiar, my chest feels tight and I’m breathing hard.

I reach the end of the hall and I pause at the door, listening for the soft sounds on the other side. They’re there, barely audible, tearing at the sinew of my heart as though to leave me
powerless against them. I put my hand and cheek against the door and linger there for a moment, savoring what remains of my innocence, knowing that the last of it is to be sacrificed here, tonight
– for what, I’m not yet sure.

I put the hotel card into the slot, listen for the electronic clicking and push the door open. It’s a simple room, done in white. The furniture has been pushed to the side to give the
impression that the only piece in the room is the king-sized canopied bed. There is a gauzy white cotton curtain hanging from the iron rods above the bed frame, rustling in the warm breeze
that’s slipping in through the open windows. Candles line a shelf on the nearest wall, the light flickering, casting shadows that dance on the walls.

I can see her outline through the canopy, lying on the white sheets, just as I’d described to her, just as I’ve seen in my head a thousand times. She is moaning softly, as though
some ache is radiating out from the center of her being – as though a longing that can no longer be ignored has broken through the surface.

I move slowly, drawn by a force as irresistible as gravity. When I’m at the foot of the bed, I pull the curtain and stand there, gazing at her. Her eyes are closed at first, and her body
moves as though in slow motion, the muscles flexing against the desire, turning her slowly, her legs rubbing together with a deliberate intensity. She is wearing white stockings over those perfect
legs, garters running under lace panties, a ribbed bustier that runs out of fabric just below her small nipples, which are so erect they seem to be straining against the limits of her skin. A satin
choker is tight to her throat and her arms are above her head, her wrists slipped through loose leather restraints wrapped around the wrought-iron headboard. She pulls on the straps, as if trying
to escape.

She opens her eyes and looks at me, lets out a deep moan. I’m just standing there, barely breathing for a moment, my ears flooded with the blood coursing through my body. Her lips part,
moist with her breath, she leans her back and writhes with greater urgency, the ache growing; the leather straps go taut as she pulls against them. Her legs run together once to the side, and then
her knees separate. She groans with an encouraging nod.

I put my hands out, onto the bed, sliding up so that I am kneeling between her feet. My hands move along the silk sheets, closer and closer, until they are caressing her ankles. With that first
touch, she lets out a moan and arches her back. My hands move up her legs, caressing her skin, kneading her muscles.

My body is responding now. I am breathing again, the air coming in great gulps, my lungs desperate for more. I take off my shirt and let my hands explore her body. She is mine, I realize. There
is nothing separating us, and she is helpless before me. It is exactly as I have imagined it so many times.

I lean down and kiss her neck. She turns her head away with a sigh, to give me better access, and to keep up the charade of feigning resistance. I kiss her ear and work my way down her throat,
across the choker, to her breasts.

She is panting now, and I push myself back up so that I’m kneeling again, and I reach out and slip her panties down. She lifts her hips to facilitate the process. I reach out again and
undo the straps on the side of her bustier, pull it off, so that she is fully revealed before me. I caress her sides as I lean forward and kiss her breasts again, running my tongue over her
nipples, gently at first, and then with greater pressure and sustained rhythm.

I kiss my way down her body, taking my time, savoring every inch of her skin. Her moaning is growing in volume, her anticipation becoming desperate. When I reach her hips, she raises them up to
meet me, but I pull back, hovering over her, looking down into her eyes. Then I slide down and begin kissing her again, starting at the ankles this time and working my way up. She lets out a
frustrated, feral groan, her body straining for my touch and my kisses.

Eventually I work my way up the inside of her thigh, pausing for just a moment as I listen to her breath coming in storm waves. ‘Please,’ she pleads. It is the first word she has
uttered. ‘Please,’ she says again, her voice even more fervent.

I move my way up, and she calls out when my tongue touches her. ‘Oh, God!’ Her hips rise and churn with my rhythm, her moans becoming screams. I can hear the bed frame creak and she
pulls hard against her restraints. I alter my speed to match the natural pace that her hips set. As her body begins to reach a crescendo, I pull away.

‘No, please!’ she calls.

I slip off my pants and move up so that I’m looking straight down at her. My hands touch her sides again, and I can feel myself pressing into her. She spreads her legs and lets out a groan
as I move inside her. We rock together for what seems like an eternity, our bodies adjusting to each other, finding the perfect alterations of speed and intensity. My hands explore her entire
body.

At one point I slide my hand up along her arms and then down again, so that my fingers come to rest at the base of her throat. We are still moving together, and our rhythm is gathering speed.
Her face is inches from mine.

‘Do it,’ she whispers.

I frown, confused.

‘Do it. I want you to.’

I am frightened – not because she would ask me to do this, but because I want to. I hold her in my hands, her body at my every whim, and there is a part of me that wants to make my will
known. I move my hand up onto her throat and squeeze softly.

She nods, looking at me, and thrusts her hips up into me with determination, her legs wrapping around behind me. ‘Trust yourself,’ she says. ‘I trust you.’

I squeeze harder, and her face contorts in ecstasy. ‘Yes!’ she chokes out, and both our bodies respond frantically. I watch as her face turns red, her mouth opens in a heavenly
smile, her body drawing me in, as though it will never get enough.

We are reaching the end, and every muscle in both of our bodies strains and flexes. I close my eyes as my hand increases the pressure.

She climaxes first, her body spasming and bucking, her legs squeezing my torso. The restraints on her wrists are so tight now that the bed frame leans forward toward us, and I’m sure
it’s bent for good. My body responds to her orgasm in kind, my own climax building like a tsunami, the ache withdrawing like the recession of the ocean, then crashing forward in a wave that
carries everything in its path with it.

My free hand is behind the small of her back, and I draw her into me as tightly with all my strength, as my body convulses over and over again, each successive wave cleansing me, carrying with
it the hurt and the confusion of the past week. Even the obsession I have created around this woman I’m with seems to ebb from my soul. I can feel it leaving my body as I hold her tightly
enough to make our two bodies one.