THE KING OF THE GOLD SYSTEM GAMING

I'm in the attic in my game room or in my bedroom? I don't remember anything, I just know that...

This can’t be happening.

Not safe.

I’m not safe.

I hug myself tighter, digging my nails into my shoulders so hard that I’m shocked my pointy acrylics aren’t breaking skin. My wrist aches from where the officer twisted, and it just serves as a brutal reminder.

Every single little noise has my head twitching and eyes darting around. I’m worried about inhaling too deep because it feels like something is going to pop out of the shadows any minute.

I haven’t moved since the police left.

I don’t even know how long ago that was.

All I know is that I was swatted.

I was actually fucking swatted.

My stomach churns like someone dropped a gallon of sour slushie in it. I’m in danger of throwing up again even though there’s nothing left in my stomach. I feel like such an idiot. Here I was, acting like Panther Hunter was just some nobody spewing idle threats.

I should’ve known to report it to the police. I should’ve alerted them that I was someone who was at risk of being swatted—that’s what a smart streamer would’ve done. But no, I’d refused to believe this was an actual issue.

So damn naïve.

I’d been dead wrong, and I’d paid the price.

I bury my face in my knees, curling myself further into a little ball under my duvet.

THUMP.

THUMP.

THUMP.

My entire body jerks at the noise and my heart stops. I hold my breath, waiting for a group of men to come barging in again.

“Panther, are you in there?” Leyla’s voice filters through the cracks.

Crap.

“Panther, open up,” Sydney calls out.

Double crap.

I don’t want them to see me like this.

I can’t. This isn’t me.

This isn’t Panther.

I panic, scrambling out of my sheets and almost tripping on my rug as I rush out of my room. My ankle twists, and I wince at the twinge but push past it with pure desperation flowing through my veins.

“I have a key,” Leyla reminds me. “If you don’t open this door in five seconds, I’m coming in anyway.”

“Fuck the countdown, just open it,” Herson growls.

The anger in his voice shocks me as my fuzzy socks skid across the floorboards.

I hear the telltale snick of the lock and watch as my front door flies open. Four people come barreling into my apartment, and I see the moment a pair of cool gray eyes land on me.

“Oh, Panther,” Sydney whispers as she rushes at me with open arms.

She squeezes me in a hug right before another small body slams into me.

“I was so worried,” Leyla’s voice cracks as her arms wrap around my waist. “I called you like three hundred times, and you just weren’t picking up. You freaked me out.” She releases her hold on me and gives my shoulder a light shove. She’s a little pissed at me, but I can see tears beading on her bottom lashes. One of them falls, trailing down her pale cheek.

Guilt wracks me, but in the aftermath of the police leaving, I hadn’t been able to command my body to do anything other than crawl into bed.

“I’m sorry,” I mumble as Sydney cradles me against her side. “I’m fine, really. Just a little shocked.” I force a tense smile, and somehow, my voice comes out level.

Someone scoffs and I peek up to see Herson glaring down at me.

I press my lips together as I avoid his gaze. I don’t like that he can see through my lies so easily.

“What happened?”

Those two simple words pierce my bubble.

Syd feels me tense beneath her, and she gives my bicep a squeeze. She’s been the publicist for The Gold System for the last five years, and she is the mother hen of the group, always looking out for not only her guys but us girls as well. There’s no one more protective than Syd.

“Come on, let’s sit down for a second.” She guides me over to the soft white couch, her arm never leaving me once.

“I was swatted.” The words stick to my tongue like honey.

“Do you know who it was?” Maker Covington, British billionaire and resident joker of The Gold System (known by the gamertag EnglishCoffee, a.k.a. English), follows his girlfriend’s lead and crouches before me, placing a hand on my knee.

I shake my head. “No, there’s—” I stop, clenching my jaw to prevent the words from leaving my lips.

What am I going to say?

Oh, there’s been someone threatening me for months, and I brushed it off like a dumbass.

I let out a groan and press my palm to the space between my brows, rubbing away the tension.

“There’s what?” Herson pushes.

“There’s nothing. I don’t want to talk about it,” I bite back.

His eyes narrow. “You’re deflecting.”

“And you’re annoying me.”

“Fine, whatever. If you don’t want help, that’s your issue. But don’t forget that we’ve dealt with this shit before.” He crosses his arms, drawing my attention to his strong biceps that are on full display with the muscle tee he has on.

Ugh. Gods. Why is he still hot when he is pissed?

“He’s right. We can help,” Leyla calls out.

My entire body jerks at the noise and my heart stops. I hold my breath, waiting for a group of men to come barging in again.

“Panther, are you in there?” Leyla’s voice filters through the cracks.

Crap.

“Panther, open up,” Sydney calls out.

Double crap.

I don’t want them to see me like this.

I can’t. This isn’t me.

This isn’t Panther.

I panic, scrambling out of my sheets and almost tripping on my rug as I rush out of my room. My ankle twists, and I wince at the twinge but push past it with pure desperation flowing through my veins.

“I have a key,” Leyla reminds me. “If you don’t open this door in five seconds, I’m coming in anyway.”

“Fuck the countdown, just open it,” Herson growls.

The anger in his voice shocks me as my fuzzy socks skid across the floorboards.

I hear the telltale snick of the lock and watch as my front door flies open. Four people come barreling into my apartment, and I see the moment a pair of cool gray eyes land on me.

“Oh, Panther,” Sydney whispers as she rushes at me with open arms.

She squeezes me in a hug right before another small body slams into me.

“I was so worried,” Leyla’s voice cracks as her arms wrap around my waist. “I called you like three hundred times, and you just weren’t picking up. You freaked me out.” She releases her hold on me and gives my shoulder a light shove. She’s a little pissed at me, but I can see tears beading on her bottom lashes. One of them falls, trailing down her pale cheek.

Guilt wracks me, but in the aftermath of the police leaving, I hadn’t been able to command my body to do anything other than crawl into bed.

“I’m sorry,” I mumble as Sydney cradles me against her side. “I’m fine, really. Just a little shocked.” I force a tense smile, and somehow, my voice comes out level.

Someone scoffs and I peek up to see Herson glaring down at me.

I press my lips together as I avoid his gaze. I don’t like that he can see through my lies so easily.

“What happened?”

Those two simple words pierce my bubble.

Syd feels me tense beneath her, and she gives my bicep a squeeze. She’s been the publicist for The Gold System for the last five years, and she is the mother hen of the group, always looking out for not only her guys but us girls as well. There’s no one more protective than Syd.

“Come on, let’s sit down for a second.” She guides me over to the soft white couch, her arm never leaving me once.

“I was swatted.” The words stick to my tongue like honey.

“Do you know who it was?” Maker Covington, British billionaire and resident joker of The Gold System, follows his girlfriend’s lead and crouches before me, placing a hand on my knee.

I shake my head. “No, there’s—” I stop, clenching my jaw to prevent the words from leaving my lips.

What am I going to say?

Oh, there’s been someone threatening me for months, and I brushed it off like a dumbass.

I let out a groan and press my palm to the space between my brows, rubbing away the tension.

“There’s what?” Herson pushes.

“There’s nothing. I don’t want to talk about it,” I bite back.

His eyes narrow. “You’re deflecting.”

“And you’re annoying me.”

“Fine, whatever. If you don’t want help, that’s your issue. But don’t forget that we’ve dealt with this shit before.” He crosses his arms, drawing my attention to his strong biceps that are on full display with the muscle tee he has on.

Ugh. Gods. Why is he still hot when he is pissed?

“He’s right. We can help,” Leyla calls out.