Page 73 of Cyber Revenge

“Yeah, we’re home.”

Her lips press together, her eyes still distant. But she nods.

“Good,” she breathes softly. “I don’t… I don’t want to be anywhere else.”

Neither do I.

I’m out of the car before she can say another word, rounding the vehicle and pulling her door open. I don’t need to tell her to wait for me to lift her. SheknowsI will.

Her body melts into mine the second I have her in my arms, her legs wrapping around my waist, her face pressed to my neck.

“I’ve got you,” I whisper as I carry her inside. The door slams shut behind us, locking the world out. And in that moment, it’s just us.

She doesn’t speak, but I feel her body relax slightly as I carry her through the house.

Still tense. Still guarded. But… safe. I don’t stop until we are in the bathroom. We’re both covered in blood–hisblood and I can’t stand it.

I need to get him off of her.

I set her down gently, my hands steady as I reach for the jacket still covering her.

“Let me…” The words are barely a whisper, but she doesn’t stop me. Her eyes meet mine, and for a split second, I see it.

Trust.

She lifts her arms, letting me peel the fabric away, her skin marred with bruises and raw from the ropes.

My jaw clenches, the anger threatening to rise again, but I push it down. Not now. The fabric falls to the floor, and my fingers trace her skin.

Slow. Gentle. I treat her like she’s fragile, but I knowbetter.

Lydia isn’tfragile. She’s fuckingmine.

When she’s bare before me, I step back, letting my eyes roam over her body. My blood boils.

Bruises. Fucking marks. His marks.

I swallow the growl that claws its way up my throat, my fingers brushing over her hip where a faint bruise is already forming.

“I’ll fix this,” I murmur, more to myself than to her.

Her eyes soften, her lips parting slightly. “I know you will.”

Fuck.

“Get in, killstreak.”

Her gaze lingers on me for a moment longer, her eyes filled with something I can’t quite name.

But then she steps into the shower, her body shivering slightly as the water cascades over her skin. I don’t hesitate. I join her, grabbing the soap, lathering my hands before I touch her.

Every stroke is slow. Intentional. My fingers trace over the bruises, washing away the blood, but my mind isburning.

I’ll replace every fucking mark he left.

With mine.

“Trip…” Her voice is barely above a whisper, her head tilting back as my hands move lower.

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