But thatbitchfuckedmyhusband, and she had to pay. I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel as I drove home, half expecting to see Victor’s precious truck parked there.
But it wasn’t, thankfully.
I showered and dressed in dark clothes, my mind on overdrive.
Was I really going to do this?
Maybe I just wanted to see the bitch in the flesh. See what was so muchbetterabout her than me.
My stomach dropped at the thought, and when I got back in my car, I already had the bar’s address up on my phone. It was some strip bar downtown.
Great. Cheated on with a stripper. At least Victor was predictable.
I hummed along to the radio as I drove, the rage within me building as I recalled every second of the video of Cami fucking my husband.
I wanted to claw the images from my brain and burn them. Hot angry tears stung my eyes, and I scrubbed them away.
Fuck him. And fuck her.
Maybe once we were divorced, he would get with her. My heart plummeted at the thought, and I bit my lip to stifle the sob that tried to escape.
“No, Lila,” I said to myself, my voice scratchy and raw. “This is payback—tonight, everyone gets paid back.”
I nodded my head as I continued driving, a calmness sweeping over me as I smiled.
All I had to do was not get caught, but if I did?
Sacrifices had to be made.
I pulled into the parking lot and shook my head at the state of the sorry bar. Peeling paint and broken neon lights greeted my car's headlights, and glass crunched beneath my tires.
What a shithole.
More importantly, though, there were no cameras anywhere.
Excellent.
My phone beeped, and I quickly turned it to silent. I couldn’t be distracted. I glanced at the screen to see it was Vanessa.
Where are you? I’ve got wine!
I couldn’t tell her. She may be my best friend, but Victor was her brother after all. This had to be between me, him, and Cami.
Speaking of the bitch, my heart raced as she stepped outside in bright pink hot pants and heels, dragging a trash bag. She was slender and tanned, but almost in a dirty way. I watched the light rain spray her beneath the streetlight and I wished it was acid. I got out of the car, my stomach churning as I approached her, taking in her thick dark hair and cheaply made-up face—with bruises on her forehead.
Probably from Vanessa.
Then she clocked my approach and jutted a thumb behind her.
“The entrance is over there, honey.” Such a sickly-sweet voice. And who the fuck was she callinghoney?
“I’m looking for Cami,” I said, trying to control my fury.
She glanced back at me as she tossed the trash bag into the dumpster. She was toned everywhere—her body was phenomenal. No wonder my husband loved fucking her.
I remembered the video as she dusted her hands off—the same pink talons that had dragged down my husband’s chest—fuck!
“That’s me!” She gave a stupid laugh and rolled her eyes.
