The Game Maker

I’m starting to want them both, not just my protector … the villain as well.

After an eviction notice and one too many apple martinis, I wake, stripped bare and alone in a cell.

No, wait, not alone. My evil garbage fire ex, Andrew, who suggested he’d let me stay with him “for a price” is here, too.

He’s the whole reason I lost my job.

My head is throbbing, my vision fuzzy.

“Andrew, you piece of … what are you doing?”

“Who’s Andrew?”

My blood runs cold. That’s not Andrew’s voice. Oh god. Oh god. Oh god.

As my vision clears, the heart-stoppingly beautiful monster comes into view. He is definitely not Andrew.

And just when I think I’m locked in a cell with my captor, a second male voice comes through a speaker: our actual captor. He has a game he insists we will pl ay … all for his brutal twisted amusement.

And if we please him, maybe he’ll let us live.

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Hljóðbók: 2 december 2025