Ravenous Revenge

Chapter Sixteen- Lyssa

The roar of my bike echoed in my ears as I tore through the city, wind whipping past me, doing nothing to cool the fire still burning in my chest. Ares—that arrogant, smirking bastard. His words looped in my head, that calm indifference fueling my rage.

“You're mistaken, Lyssa.”

Mistaken? He dared to act like none of it mattered—as if I could just shrug off what happened last night. But I couldn't. No matter how much I wanted to bury it, his voice, his touch, the way he'd taken every scrap of control I thought I had—it wouldn’t leave me.

I gritted my teeth and wove through traffic, handlebars tight under my palms. The city blurred; familiar streets felt strangely distant.

By the time I reached my apartment, my body was buzzing—anger, adrenaline, exhaustion tangled into a hard knot in my chest. I parked, stomped inside, and slammed the door with a satisfying thud.

I barely hit the couch before my phone buzzed.

His name blinked on the screen: Ares.

I renamed him in my head — Asshole Extraordinaire. Juvenile? Maybe. Satisfying? Absolutely.

I hesitated, then opened the message.

Lyssa, I don't remember last night. Regardless of what you think, I need you to explain what happened. Name a time and place. This isn't optional.

The nerve of him. My grip tightened as I reread it. He doesn't remember? Bullshit. He was lying. Or he thought I was stupid enough to believe him. Either way, I wasn't about to let him manipulate me.

Still—there was a tiny, hated flicker of doubt. He hadn’t been entirely composed this morning. There’d been something in his eyes… almost confused.

I shook it off. He didn’t deserve the benefit of the doubt.

My thumb hovered over the keyboard as I weighed my options. Ignore him and make him stew? Or bait him into a corner and get the answers I needed?

I typed, hands steady with spite.

You don't remember? Fine. Meet me at Midnight Bar tonight. Eight o'clock. Don't be late.

Sent. I tossed the phone onto the couch.

This wasn’t about closure. It wasn’t about giving him a chance to explain.

It was about getting the truth. Then getting my revenge.

But I couldn't just sit and stew until tonight. I needed clarity—someone levelheaded, someone who wouldn’t let me go off the rails.

Kat. She kept me grounded. She’d tell it to me straight.

I scrolled to her contact and hit call.

She picked up on the second ring. “Hey, trouble,” she said, warm and teasing. “What’s up?”

“I need you to come over,” I cut to the chase.

Her voice went sharp in a second. “What’s wrong?”

“Everything,” I said, pinching the bridge of my nose. “I need to update you on what happened—and I need an update from you, too.”

“Update?” she echoed, curiosity and concern warring in her tone. “Is this about the guy you were tracking?”

“The one and only,” I snapped. “Last night went sideways. Badly.”

“No hesitation. I’ll be there in twenty,” she said. “And Lyssa?”

“Yeah?”

“Try not to punch any holes in the walls before I get there.” Serious, but with that familiar tease.

I snorted. “No promises.”

She laughed and hung up.

I tossed the phone back onto the couch and leaned forward, elbows on my knees. My mind replayed the last twenty-four hours—the club, the alley, the office. Kat would want the full story, and I needed to figure out how to tell it without losing my grip on whatever plan I still had.

The knock came three quick raps. I opened the door before she could finish, and Kat swept in like the calm after a storm—hair in a messy bun, leather jacket slung over one shoulder, eyes already scanning me for damage.

“You look like hell,” she said, dropping onto the couch and folding one long leg over the other. The tease was obvious, but the concern under it was real.

“Save it,” I muttered, closing the door and locking it. “You have no idea.”

She held up her hands. “Hit me. Spill.”

I sank down opposite her and ran a hand over my face. The words tumbled out—club, alley, fight, office, Ares. I left nothing out. Kat listened without interrupting, offering only the occasional sharp intake when something particularly ugly landed.

When I finished, she sat quietly for a beat, processing. “Okay,” she said finally. “First: breathe. Second: you didn’t break. Third: this is messy and dangerous, but it’s fixable.”

“Fixable how?” I asked, skepticism flat in my voice.

She folded her hands, leaning forward. “Information. Contacts. Leverage. You’ve been playing this cold and precise, and you still can. But right now you’re emotionally compromised. We neutralize that by turning chaos into data.”

“You mean—” I started.

“I mean we map everything that happened last night and patch the gaps. Who saw you at the club? Who can corroborate his movements? Who’s got cameras, security logs? Enzo can scrub digital blind spots, but he can’t make people forget. We need paper trails, footage—anything that proves or disproves the narrative you want.”

The plan slid into me—Enzo for pings, a favor from the hostess, the building's security office, maybe a bartender with a memory. “And if Beast took over?” I asked. “If he’s acting and Ares genuinely doesn’t remember?”

Kat’s face hardened. “Then you treat it like a threat vector. Keep your distance. Bait him, but don’t go alone. Don’t let him isolate you again.”

“You think he won’t try to charm me into letting my guard down?” I scoffed. “He already did.”

“He’ll try again,” she said. “So we arm your night. Cameras in the bar. A backup team parked a street over. A safe word. If anything goes sideways, you get out, you get proof, and you expose him.”

My chest tightened. “I don’t want to be the woman who needs protection.”

“You don’t,” Kat said, soft but firm. “You want leverage. Think of this as professional insurance. You’re not weaker because you’re cautious—you’re smarter.”

She pushed a small tablet across the coffee table. “I called in a favor. I can pull the club’s backroom bookings, Enzo’s on standby for pings, and I tapped a contact at the building who owes me one. He’ll give us footage from the corridor outside your door. We’ll know who walked in and out—timestamps and all.”

I stared at the plan, feeling clarity return. “And if it’s Ares? If the footage shows him?”

“Then we force him to explain in public,” Kat said. “We don’t corner him privately. We don’t give him the conditions he needs to act without witnesses. We make him defend himself where his men, his pride, and his reputation are on the line.”

A slow, familiar smile crept across my face—the one Kat knew best, the sign I was back in control. “Okay. We do it your way. Quiet, methodical. Like ripping a thing apart seam by seam.”

She grinned. “About time. Also—tonight, maybe don’t storm into his face. Make him come to you. Let him sweat first.”

I nodded. “Eight p.m. Midnight Bar. I’ll be there. But I’m bringing backup.”

She looped an arm through mine like a partner in crime. “Bring the backup and a good pair of boots. We’re going to make him regret underestimating you.”

As she left, the anger shifted—less raw, more focused. The knot in my chest loosened just enough for breath. Revenge still simmered, but now it had a direction.

We had a plan. Tonight, I will get answers. And if Ares Rossi—or Beast—tried to lie, I would be ready to expose it, piece by piece.