Page 32

THIRTY-TWO

LYDIA

T he 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.”

He steps closer, I can smell his cologne on the faint breeze now, it turns my stomach and brings memories flooding back to the surface. The faint glow from the porch light illuminates the jagged scar across his chest, the brutal reminder of what Trip had done to him.

LIAR

I flinch.

“That hurt, by the way.” Patrick’s fingers brush over the scar like he’s savoring it. “But not as much as knowing you let him do it.”

I shake my head. “I didn’t–”

“You did.” His voice sharpens. “You chose him.”

His eyes burn into me, and for a moment, I see something beneath the rage. Something twisted.

Obsession.

“You always did like the bad ones, didn’t you?” he sneers. “But I guess I wasn’t bad enough.”

I force myself to stand. My legs tremble, but I plant my feet. “Get the fuck out.”

He laughs. A low, hollow sound that makes my stomach twist.

“You think he’s gonna save you?” Patrick’s voice drops to a growl. “Like he did last time?”

My nails bite into my palms. “He will.”

“Oh, baby.” He steps closer. “He’s not even here.”

I try not to react, to keep my face blank. But Patrick sees it. He always sees it.

“He left you,” he whispers, his lips curling. “Just like I said he would.”

“That’s not true.” My voice cracks.

“Isn’t it?”

The blade comes next. Smooth. Silent. Like it has always been there. I don’t see it until it gleams beneath the porch light, the metal kissed by the night.

My stomach drops.

I stumble back, my heart racing, but he follows. step for step.

“You don’t get to be happy,” Patrick says, his eyes dark with something feral. “Not after what you did.”

“I didn’t do–”

“You ruined me.” He cuts me off, his words bitter and angry. The knife twists into the light, catching the faint reflection of the stars above us. I barely have time to react before Patrick lunges.

I scramble back, the patio chair screeching against the concrete as I stumble to my feet. But he’s faster. Always fucking faster.

“Don’t make this harder than it needs to be, baby.” His voice is calm. Too calm. Like he’s enjoying this. Like he’s already won.

I back toward the house, my eyes darting to the sliding glass door. So close. If I can just–

Patrick’s hand shoots out, grabbing my wrist.

“Where are you going?”

The force of it jerks me back, sending me crashing against his chest. I can smell him, sweat, smoke, and something metallic underneath.

“Trip’s not here to save you this time.”

My heart slams against my ribs. I try to twist free, but his grip tightens, his nails digging into my skin.

“Let go,” I hiss, trying to shove him back.

“Why?” He leans in, his breath warm against my neck. “So you can run back to him? Beg him to fix what you broke?”

“I didn’t break anything.” My voice trembles, but I keep my chin up, refusing to let him see how scared I am.

“Oh, baby…” His lips graze the shell of my ear, sending a shiver down my spine. “You broke everything. ”

I fight.

I kick.

I claw at his arms, my nails digging into his flesh, but he doesn’t even flinch.

“Feisty.” He chuckles, his grip like iron as he drags me back toward the center of the patio. “I like it.”

“Let. Me. Go.”

“Or what?”

I spin, aiming my knee for his crotch, but he’s ready. He blocks it, twisting my arm behind my back until I cry out.

“Still fighting.” His voice is laced with amusement, but there’s something darker beneath it. Something cold.

“Trip will kill you,” I spit, my teeth clenched against the pain.

Patrick’s grip tightens.

“Maybe.” His tone is casual. “But not before I finish what I started.”

The knife is back. I feel the cold press of the blade against my ribs, just enough to make my breath hitch.

“I could kill you right now.” His voice is soft, almost thoughtful. “End it all. Make him suffer.”

I freeze.

“Would you like that?” He drags the blade lower, skimming the edge of my tank top. “Would he fall apart if I took you away?”

My body trembles, but I refuse to let him see my fear.

“Do it,” I whisper, my jaw clenched. “Fucking do it, Patrick.”

His grip on my arm tightens, the knife biting just enough to sting. But then… he laughs.

“Oh, no. No, no, no.” He shakes his head, his eyes glinting with something sick. “That’s too easy.”

I’m shaking. My body is fighting, but my mind is breaking. Patrick isn’t just here to kill me. He’s here to destroy me.

“You think you’re safe now,” he murmurs, dragging the knife slowly down my side, just grazing the skin. “You think Trip’s gonna protect you forever?”

I swallow hard, my pulse pounding in my ears.

“He’s not.”

“He will.” My voice is barely above a whisper. Patrick’s grin widens.

“Poor baby.” His tone is mocking. “You really think he’s any different?”

“He is. ” I spit the words out, my teeth clenched. Patrick’s face hardens, the humor fading.

“Was he different with the others?”

My blood runs cold.

“What…?”

“The others, Lydia.” His eyes are dead, empty, as they lock onto mine. “The ones before you.”

“No…”

“He didn’t tell you?” Patrick’s grin is cruel now. “Of course, he didn’t.”

My stomach twists.

“He watches them.” His voice drops lower, almost a whisper. “Just like he watches you.”

“Shut up.”

“Loves them.”

“Stop.”

“ Ruins them.”

“ Stop! ”

Patrick leaned in, his lips brushing against my ear.

“And then he lets them die.”

I snap. The rage boils over, my fear drowned out by the pounding of my heart. I drive my elbow back, catching him in the ribs. He grunts, his grip loosening just enough for me to twist away.

But I don’t get far. Patrick grabs my hair, yanking me back hard enough to make my vision blur.

“Ah-ah, baby.” His breath is hot on my neck. “Not so fast.”

“Fuck you.”

“You already did.” His grin is vicious as he spins me around, forcing me to face him again. The knife is still in his hand. And this time… He isn’t playing.

“You should’ve stayed with me, Lydia.” His voice is different now. Softer. Almost… sad.

“I would’ve protected you.”

I shake my head, tears burning my eyes. “No, Patrick.” My voice cracks. “You never protected me.” His jaw clenches, his eyes darkening.

“I loved you.”

“You used me.”

“I gave you everything!”

“You took everything.”

His grip on the knife tightens.

“You made me like this.”

“Patrick…” I breathe out.

“You ruined me. ” I don’t see the blade until it’s too late. The cold steel pierces my side, sliding between my ribs with sickening ease.

The pain is instant. Blinding .

I gasp, my body jerking as the blade twists, the searing heat spreading through my veins like fire. Patrick’s face is close to mine, his eyes wild, his breath ragged.

“Now…” His voice barely above a whisper. “You can ruin him, too.”

The world tilts. The ground feels so far away as I crumple, my legs giving out beneath me. Patrick lets me go, and I hit the concrete hard, the pain blooming through my body as my vision blurs.

Blood.

So much blood.

It pools beneath me, warm and sticky, soaking into the cracks of the patio. I blink, trying to stay conscious, but everything is slipping.

Patrick crouches beside me, his eyes cold and detached as he drags his finger through my blood.

“Almost forgot,” he murmurs, his lips curling. I watch, helpless, as he smears the words across the concrete.

“You always cause them to die.”

My body is numb. My thoughts are fading. But the last thing I see… The last thing I feel… Is the distant hum of an engine.

Trip.

Coming home. Coming back to me. But it’s too late. Patrick’s already gone.

And I’m fading.