Page 93 of Cyber Revenge

Bleeding.

Trip.

Towering over him, his voice low and lethal as he speaks words I can’t hear. But I don’t need to hear them. I see everything.

Every. Fucking. Thing.

Trip didn’t just kill Patrick.

He destroyed him.

My breathing quickens, my pulse pounding as I watch Trip’s movements–calm, methodical, brutal. His knife carved into Patrick’s skin with precision, his hands steady as he marked him one last time.

And then the adrenaline. The slow, torturous death. My throat tightens, my entire body buzzing with something I can’t name.

Trip did this.

For me. My heart pounds harder, my thighs pressing together as heat pools between them.

Fuck.

I’m falling.

Deeper.

Harder.

Completely.

Trip killed for me. And I’ve never loved him more.

Does that make me the monster here?

THIRTY-FIVE

LYDIA

Iended the call with my daughter. Being able to video chat with her and my parents every day over the last month has kept me sane. The soft hum of the air conditioner fills the living room, the gentle breeze from the vents brushing over my skin as I lie on the couch. Trip tucked me into a fortress of pillows and blankets, his overprotective streak in full force since the moment we got home from the hospital.

My body still aches. The stitches pull with every slight movement, and the bruises along my ribs are a deep shade of purple, but I’m healing. Slowly.

And Trip won’t let me forget it.

“Stop squirming, killstreak.” His voice is low, gruff, but there’s warmth beneath the command.

I tilt my head to find him standing in the doorway with a glass of water in one hand and a plate of sliced fruit in the other.

“I’m not squirming,” I murmur, my lips curving into a small smile as I shift, trying to sit up.

“Don’t.” His eyes narrow as he sets the plate and glass down on the coffee table. “I swear to fucking God, Lydia, if you move one more time…”

“What, Trip?” I tease, my voice soft, but the challenge is there. “What are you gonna do?”

The corner of his mouth twitches, but the dark gleam in his eyes makes my pulse skip.

“Don’t test me, killstreak,” he grumbles, crouching beside me, his fingers brushing a strand of hair from my face. “I’ll tie you to this couch if I have to.”

“Hmm.” I hum softly, my smile widening. “Kinky.”

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