Page 87 of Cyber Revenge

The world shifts as the weight of it settles over me, dragging me deeper into the darkness that has always been there, waiting.

The man Lydia loves is gone. This is something else. Something darker. Colder.

The vest came next, tight and heavy against my chest. I strapped the blades into place, one at my thigh, another across my back.

The gun is tucked into its holster, but I won’t need it. Guns are too quick. Too merciful. Tonight, Patrick isn’t getting mercy.

I slide the ropes into my pack. Zip ties. Blades. A syringe filled with adrenaline. I don’t plan on letting him pass out before I’m finished with him.

My fingers brush over the edge of the tattoo gun before tucking it into the pack as well. That’s for the final touch.

The last piece of the message I’m going to leave him with. A permanent reminder of what happens when you touch what’s mine.

The engine of the Challenger rumbles to life, the vibration settling deep into my bones as I pull out of the garage.

The world outside blurs, but I don’t see it. My focus is laser-sharp, locked on one thing. One destination.

I know where Patrick is hiding. He thinks he’s smart. Thinks he’s fucking untouchable.

But I’ve been watching.

I’ve been waiting for this moment.

The warehouse on the south side is dark and forgotten, a perfect place for a man like him to hide.

But there’s no hiding from me. Not tonight. I kill the engine a block away and step out, the night air cool against my skin beneath the gear.

The silence presses down on me, but it isn’t empty. It’s heavy. Anticipation thrums in my veins as I approach the building.

He’s inside.

I can feel him.

The door is locked, but that doesn’t matter. I won’t be knocking.

I plant the charge, step back, and detonate it. The explosion echoes through the night, metal screeching as the door blowsinward, smoke and debris clouding the air. I grin as the chaos rains around me. I really enjoy blowing shit up.

I don’t wait for it to clear.

I move like a predator, silent and focused, slipping through the smoke like a shadow. My steps are measured, deliberate. Each one brings me closer to him.

I can hear Patrick inside. His breathing is too loud, his movements frantic as he stumbles through the dark, trying to find a place to hide.

But there’s no hiding from me.

I see him before he sees me.

He’s pacing near the center of the warehouse, his eyes wild and darting toward every sound. Sweat drips down his face, his chest rising and falling in ragged breaths.

“Trip…” His voice is weak.

I don’t answer.

Not yet.

I want him to feel it first. The anticipation. The dread. The certainty that he isn’t walking out of here alive.

He turns too late.

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