Page 18 of Cyber Revenge

And for the first time since I got home, I don’t know who I’m thinking about anymore.

ELEVEN

TRIP

Iknew where he was taking her before she did.

The rooftop restaurant isn’t even listed on public directories. No menus online. No delivery. You don’t just stumble into that kind of place; you are invited, or you paid enough to buy the silence that came with it.

And Patrick paid in more than money.

I sit in the back of my garage with the lights off, the faint hum of the security feed running through my ears. Her street. Her apartment. Every camera I’ve rigged discreetly into her corners. I neverwatchher in the creepy sense, never when she doesn’t want to be seen. I just… keep her covered. Keep hersafe.

But tonight is different.

Tonight, I feel rage.

Not because my little killstreak is with him.

But because he is with her.

Patrick. Fucking. Rhodes.

The man looks like money and smiles like sin. He cleans up nice, says all the right things, and tilts his head like he’s actually listening.

And underneath all that charm? He’s a sadist wrapped in silk.

We have history. Dark, bloodied, classified history. Missions that weren’t supposed to happen. Ghosts we were told to create and forget.

I never forgot.

Especially not what he did to that girl in Cairo. Or the one in Kyiv. Or the way he always pretended it was part of the job.

Lydia doesn’t know.

But she will.

I set up the camera in the corner of the garage, the lighting low and hot, shadows flickering across the oil-stained walls. I pull the black tactical mask over my face, flex my jaw, and let the stillness settle.

This one isn’t for attention.

This one is for her.

I click record.

The camera whirs as I stalk into frame, shirtless, breath already heavy from the anger seething in my chest. I grab the back of the old tattoo chair and lean over it, forearms flexed, veins pulsing.

“I bet he held the door open for you,” I say, voice low and slow. “Said you looked beautiful. Told you everything you wanted to hear.”

I pause, letting the silence ache.

“You think you’re safe because he opened your door. Because he said the right words. But when he leaves, you’re still alone. And you’re still wet from the last time you said my name.”

I stare into the lens, still, steady.

“I don’t need dinner to make you mine.”

Click. Stop recording.

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