26. Trip
TWENTY-SIX
TRIP
T he night air is cool when I wake up, but the space beside me is cold.
My eyes open slowly, adjusting to the dim glow of the TV screen.
The menu music from Call of Duty plays softly in the background like it always does on repeat. Lydia’s controller is still sitting on the cushion where she left it.
But she’s gone.
The blanket we tangled ourselves in hours ago is pooled on the floor, and her vape is still sitting on the table.
Something’s wrong.
I sit up, blinking away the last remnants of sleep as my senses sharpen.
“Lydia?”
Silence. The quiet isn’t comforting. It’s too heavy. Too still. My stomach twists as I scan the room, searching for anything that feels out of place.
“Killstreak?” I stand, moving through the house.
The bathroom is empty. The kitchen is quiet. Where the fuck is she? My steps carry me toward the front door.
It’s open.
Barely. Swinging slightly in the breeze. A soft creak echoes through the night as it moves, and my heart slams into my ribs.
The hairs on the back of my neck stand up, a primal warning screaming at me.
She’s not here.
I step outside, my senses sharpening instantly. The night is cool, but I don’t feel it. My body goes on autopilot, every instinct zeroing in on what is out of place.
And then I see it. Her phone.
Broken, scattered on the ground, glinting faintly in the dim glow of the porch light. My jaw clenches as I crouch down, fingers brushing over the broken glass. The metal is cool. But the ground beneath it…
Disturbed.
Scuff marks. Signs of a struggle. My blood goes ice cold.
She fought.
A muscle in my jaw ticks as I stand, scanning the ground. Footsteps. Leading away from the car. Away from the house.
I take a step back, my chest tight, the edges of my vision already going dark.
Think. Focus.
The cameras. I move back inside, body moving on instinct. My fingers are steady as I grab my phone, pulling up the security feed. I rewound. Watched.
Come on. Show me. And then I see it.
Patrick.
That fucking grin. My jaw clenches tighter as I watch him push his way inside.
I see the moment Lydia realizes what is happening.
Her body stiffened. Her eyes went wide.
She fought.
But he is stronger. Bigger.
I watch him shove her back against the wall, his hand over her mouth as she struggles.
My breathing slows.
My pulse pounds in my ears, louder than the quiet ticking of the clock. I see him drag her toward the door.
No.
My grip on the phone tightens. The plastic creaks under the pressure, but I don’t care.
I rewind. Pause. Check the timestamp. Pull up the GPS tracker I put in one of the bracelets Lydia wears religiously, months ago.
The screen blinks. Ping. An address. Factory. East side. I know that place. Abandoned. No lights. No cameras. No witnesses.
Perfect for a fucking grave.
The air around me feels thicker. Heavier. My pulse slows.
You took her.
My fingers flex, muscles twitching with the need to move.
You fucking took her.
The edges of my vision go black. I don’t think. I don’t hesitate.
Gear up.
The garage is cold, but I don’t feel it. My body is on autopilot. Every movement is practiced. Precise. I grab what I need.
Gloves. Vest. Blades. Tattoo gun. I’m not just going to hurt him, I’m going to mark him. My favorite knife slides into the sheath on my thigh without a sound.
The mask is last. I pull it down over my face, the familiar weight molding to my skin like a second layer of armor. The world feels different with it on.
Sharper. Colder. Darker.
You don’t get to keep her, Patrick.
The drive is a blur. The city lights pass in streaks of color, but I don’t see them. My mind is too loud. Patrick’s face. Lydia’s fear.
Her fucking fear.
I’ll make him pay.
The factory looms in the distance. Concrete and steel. Silent. Empty. Good.
Easier to get in.
Harder to get out.
I park a block away, keeping the car hidden in the shadows. The night is too quiet. But I can feel it. The weight in the air. The anticipation.
He’s inside.
With her.
I move toward the building, every step measured and silent. The darkness cloaks me, making me a shadow as I approach.
The front door is locked, but I didn’t bother picking it.
I have a faster way in.
I plant the charge. Step back.
*Boom
The explosion echoes, shaking the ground. Metal screeches and concrete cracks. The door blows inward.
No alarms. No patrols. No one to hear us. The building has been dead for years.
Coming for you, motherfucker.
The smoke is thick, but I move through it like a predator. Silent and focused.
Almost there.
I hear them before I see them. Lydia’s muffled cries. Patrick’s voice–low, cruel, taunting. My jaw clenches.
Not much longer.
The room is at the end of the hall. Dim light spills from under the door. I move slower now, my body coiled tight, every muscle ready to strike. One shot.
Don’t fuck this up.
The door isn’t locked. I don’t kick it open. I ease it open. Silent. Patrick doesn’t hear me.
Good.
Lydia is tied to a chair. Her wrists are raw. Her eyes are red, wide with fear. But when she sees me.
Relief.
“Trip…”
Her voice is a broken whisper. But I hear it. Patrick turns.
“ What the ? — ”
He doesn’t finish the sentence. I’m already moving. The knife is in my hand before he registers I’m there.
I tackle him to the ground, the blade pressing into his throat before he can even blink. Patrick’s eyes go wide.
Panic.
“You shouldn’t have touched her.” My voice is calm. Too calm. But the rage simmering beneath the surface…
Deadly.
I’m not going to kill him. Not yet. Death is too easy. I drag him to the chair and bind him with the rope he had lying next to Lydia. Tight. Unrelenting.
Let him feel it.
“Trip…” Lydia’s voice is soft. But I’m not done.
I pull out the tattoo gun and Patrick’s eyes widen.
“Wh-what the fuck are you doing?” His voice cracks
“Marking you.”
I straddle his lap, pinning him down. The machine buzzes to life in my hand.
“You like control, don’t you, Patrick? You think because you know people and have money, you get to own her? I know people too, you fucking prick.”
His eyes go wide.
I hover the gun over his skin, taking in the fear radiating off of him.
“You thought calling Zane would help you?” He looks back and forth, shaking his head. “I called him. He won’t be showing up to help you. Your dumbass backup plan failed.” I smile.
The needle presses against his skin. Right across his chest. He screams.
“You’re gonna wear this for the rest of your miserable life.”
My voice is steady. Cold. Patrick’s screams echo in the room, but I don’t stop. When it’s done, his chest is raw. Bleeding.
The letters burn into his flesh like a fucking brand.
LIAR
I stand, my hands covered in blood, the needle still dripping as I turn toward Lydia. Her eyes lock onto mine. Wide and desperate. But not scared.
“Trip…”
My name is a broken whisper on her lips again. I move toward her, untying the ropes that bind her wrists and ankles. The moment she’s free, she falls into my arms.
I hold her close, my body shaking as I bury my face in her hair.
“Killstreak…”
Her fingers curl into my shirt, clinging to me like she’s afraid I’ll disappear. But I won’t be going anywhere.
“I’m here.”
My voice is rough. Raw with the emotions I’ve been shoving down since I realized she was missing. “You’re safe now.” But she doesn’t pull away. Her body presses closer.
Her breathing is ragged, uneven, and I feel the shift before she even speaks.
“Trip…”
Her eyes meet mine. Dark. Needy.
“I need you.”
Fuck. I carry her to the table. Blood still stains the surface, but she doesn’t care. Neither do I. I lay her down, my hands tracing over the bruises on her skin.
Mine.
I will erase every fucking mark Patrick left on her. Replace them with mine.
“Please fuck me…”
My voice is a growl. Her body arches under my touch.
“Please.”
I don’t make her wait. My lips claim hers, devouring her like I’m starving. Because I am.
Her legs wrap around me, pulling me closer, and I slide inside her with one brutal thrust.
She gasps, her head falling back, and I don’t stop. My mouth finds her neck and bites into her. Replacing his hurt on her with mine. Her cries turn into moans as pain turns into pleasure
I fuck her like I’ms claiming her all over again. Rough. Unrelenting. Mine. Her whimpers echo off the concrete walls, mixing with the scent of blood and sweat and us.
I reach down and grab my knife from my thigh holster. Her eyes widen at the sight. Lifting my hand, I slice. Blood oozes from the wound.
My hands find her blood dripping from the bite I just made on her neck. Gathering her blood in the same hand I pull my cock out so just the tip was barely lining her entrance.
She looks down between us.
“Fuck, that’s hot,” she says breathlessly as I stroke my cock up and down with our blood as lube.
I look into her eyes and slam back into her pussy. She cries out as she stretches around me.
“Do you like when I coat your pussy in our blood, killstreak? Do you like when I fuck this needy little cunt and claim it as mine?” I grunt out as I continue to slam into her.
Her walls clench around me as her orgasm crests. “Fuck. I’m gonna–I’m coming,” she cries out.
I keep fucking her through her orgasm. Her juices coat my cock mixing with our blood.
“Fuckkkkk, little killer. Come on my dick while I fuck you with our blood.”
I don’t stop until she’s trembling beneath me.
Until she’s wrecked.
And when she comes with me, when white hot ropes shoot into her pussy filling her, and she’sscreaming my name…
I know. She’s mine.
Forever.