Page 25 of Cyber Revenge

I sit on the garage floor in just sweats, back against the cold concrete, a blunt in one hand, phone in the other. Her last message is still unread. I haven’t opened it yet.

Because I know if I see her calling himbaby,I might actually lose it.

Instead, I open our saved snaps.

The one of her tits pressed together in a sheer white bra.

The one where she was riding her vibrator and whispering my name.

The one where she said,“Don’t fall in love with me. I ruin nice things.”

The problem is, I’d never wanted anything nice.

I want her.

Wrecked. Ruined. Mine.

We still play together.

COD Black Ops 6. Ranked lobbies. Late-night chaos.

She always invites me when Patrick isn’t on. Still adds me to party chat like nothing has changed. But it has.

She doesn’t flirt anymore.

No giggles when I save her from a sniper.

No sly moans when we play Warzone, and I revive her, saying,“I’ve got you.”

No whispered,“TripsterGuy…”when we clear an objective side-by-side.

But she plays better with me. Sharper. More reckless. Like she still needs to feel the way I push her, just without the tension.

That’s fine.

I don’t push.

I cover her six. Take the shots. Lead the objectives. Let her chase glory and keep her clean on the backend.

I give herfriendship.

Like a fucking good guy.

But if she thinks I’m done claiming her?

She’s wrong.

I double down on the thirst traps.

Harder. Filthier. Meaner.

The next video starts with my fingers flexing inside black leather gloves. Veins bulging under the ink. The camera zooms slowly up my forearms, over my chest, sweat-slick and cut from every angle.

My mask stays on. Of course.

I let the silence sit for a beat. Then…

“You let him post you now. Good girl. I hope his praise is worth pretending you're satisfied.”

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