Page 82 of Cyber Revenge

The breeze is soft tonight, just enough to rustle the leaves in the trees. It carries the faint scent of rain, mixing with the skunky haze from the bowl I just finished. I stretch my legs out over the patio chair, letting the warmth of the smoke linger in my chest.

The back patio is my sanctuary now. Trip has sealed every lock, reinforced every window, and installed cameras that blink red from the shadows like his watchful eyes. Even when he isn’t here, I feel him. His protection. His presence.

I’m not scared anymore.

Not with him.

I slide my bare foot across the cool concrete, the night air kissing my skin. My phone buzzes beside me, but I ignore it.Probably Trip, checking in like he always does, but he’ll be back soon.

And when he is, I’ll pull him inside, kiss the lingering ink stains from his hands, and let him ruin me on the kitchen counter like we never stop needing each other.

But for now, I’m free.

Free to let my mind drift, to stare at the stars above and wonder if they ever envy us, burning so brightly, knowing their time is fleeting.

I take another hit, the smoke curling lazily through the air. My lungs tingle, the buzz pulling me deeper into the comfort of it all.

Safe.

That’s what I am now.

Safe.

Until I’m not. The shift is so slight I almost miss it. A barely-there creak of the wooden fence. The distant hum of the streetlamp. But then…

The sound of footsteps.

Slow. Deliberate.

My heart stutters. The air thickens. I sit up, the buzz dissipating in an instant.

“Trip?”

No answer. The shadows near the tree line shift. A figure. Black boots. Blue jeans. A sharp, predatory stillness. And then I see the face.

Patrick.

Every muscle in my body freezes. My throat closes, and the blood roars in my ears.

It isn’t possible. He isn’t supposed to be here. Trip should know. Trip would stop him. But Patrick is here. And he is smiling.

“Hey, baby.”

The words slither from his lips like oil, coating me in their sickening familiarity. My pulse pounds loudly in my ears. My fingers clench around the edge of the chair while my brain tries to catch up to what’s happening.

He takes a step closer. I want to scream. Run. Fight. But I can’t move.

“How did you–”

“Get here?” He tilts his head, his grin widening. “You think Trip’s the only one who knows how to watch?”

The cameras. He knows. He’s been watching.He’s always been watching.

“I saw how happy you’ve been,” Patrick says, his voice low, mocking. “You and him. Playing house like nothing ever happened.”

My mouth is dry. I try to swallow, try to find words, but they stick in my throat.

“He thinks he’s won,” Patrick continues, circling the patio like a wolf. “But you and I both know the truth.”

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