Page 11 of Upon Blooded Lips (Vengeance #1)

TESSA

H appy birthday.

The thought slams into me the moment I gain consciousness, forcing me out of the dreamy fog and dumping me unceremoniously into reality.

I rub my hands over my face and blink my eyes open.

The early morning sunlight creates dancing shadows across my ceiling, enthralling me with their patterns while my brain comes to life.

Eighteen. I spent years aching to reach this magical age, absolutely convinced in my childlike stupidity that it would spell my freedom.

That the moment the clock struck midnight, the ties that bound me to my family would dissolve like acid and set me free into the world of adulthood.

A shuddering sigh slips through my lips at my naivety.

I fought back against everything they threw at me, unwilling to let them break me.

The abuse, the bullying, the rape, the psychological warfare—throughout it all, I kept that little flame of hope burning, protecting it with the fierceness of a mother lion with her cubs.

I swing my legs over the side of the bed, allowing my toes to bury into the faded area rug.

My gaze roams over my room, catching on the wedding dress hanging on a hook near my closet.

A lump forms in my throat, and I drag in a desperate breath, fighting against the whispering darkness beckoning me to join it.

I should have known I’d never be free. That Presley would find a way to strengthen the invisible chains around me until I either submitted or suffocated. All because I had the temerity to be born.

With a small scream, I throw myself across the room and rip it from its hook.

Yards of frilly white fabric surround me like a cloud before I throw it to the floor and stomp on it.

My fingers curl into claws, the sound of tearing lace blocking out my sobs as I tear it to shreds.

When there’s nothing left but rags, I fall to my knees and bury my face in my hands.

What have I done? Presley’s going to kill me when she sees it.

Hide the evidence.

Closing my eyes, I take several deep breaths, blowing them out slowly until my emotions settle. I can’t lose control again, not today. I have to get through my graduation and the following celebratory dinner where I’ll meet my fiancé before the wedding tomorrow. Keep your shit together, Tessa.

I haul myself to my feet, every muscle in my body trembling, and kick the shreds of fabric out of the way as I head to the closet.

When I swing it open, the mirror on the inside of the door reveals my oldest friend.

I pause when our gazes meet, and the last of my despair whittles away under her wry smile.

Mirror Girl. It’s a juvenile name for the entity born of blood and violence; one given by a traumatized child desperate for something to call her own.

The name stuck, and she’s been with me ever since.

Is she real or a product of my overactive imagination?

An alternate personality, perhaps? Or did the systemic abuse I suffered splinter my mind?

What does “real” mean, anyway? I think, therefore, I am.

The corner of my mouth lifts, and she grins back at me.

I remember most of my childhood with startling clarity, but not all of it. There are black holes, as deep as an abyss, littering the landscape of my mind. When the horrors are too great for me to bear, she wrests control, absorbing the memories so I don’t have to.

Thank you for always protecting me.

You’re welcome.

I press two fingers to my lips before touching them to the bloody kiss mark I refuse to wash away. “Someday, we’ll get out of here and they’ll all die,” I whisper, repeating the oath I’ve made every birthday since I was six.

Presley swipes lipstick on her lips, peering at me through the mirror in the hallway.

“I wonder what it would be like to have a valedictorian for a daughter. Ashley’s parents are so lucky.

” She tucks a loose strand of hair into her tight bun before smoothing her hands down her navy dress. “Sadly, I’ll never know.”

And I’ll never know what it’s like to have a loving and supportive mother.

She spins around and looks me up and down with a curled lip. My brows draw together. What have I done wrong now? I’m dressed exactly as she ordered, down to the precise angle of my white cap.

“There’s the graduate!” Robert bellows, hurrying down the stairs. I turn away and roll my eyes, only to find Stephen lounging against the doorframe with a leer on his face.

“You better behave yourself today,” Presley says under her breath. She pinches my wrist hard enough to leave a bruise, but I refuse to wince. “And put a goddamn smile on your face.”

Of course, Mother Dearest. Let’s smile for the cameras so the world thinks we’re a perfect little happy family.

That they don’t even acknowledge my birthday doesn’t surprise me. Why would they? I’m nothing but a means to an end for them.

Stephen and his three stooges form a suffocating circle around me while we walk to the cars.

Presley and Robert take the BMW while I’m crammed into the middle seat of the SUV with guards on both sides.

My skin crawls at their nearness, and I try to make myself as small as possible to avoid touching them.

We follow behind my parents until Stephen shouts a curse.

I lean over Stooge One to peer out the window, only to find my motorcycle-riding stalker outside.

His helmet turns toward me, and my heart leaps in my chest. He roars away, disappearing around a corner, only to loop around the block and come up behind us.

Stooge Two rolls down the window with his gun palmed in his hand. Is he related to Officer Kendrick? We’re surrounded by cars. What’s he going to do? Shoot?

“Put the gun away, you fucking moron,” Stephen shouts, mirroring my thoughts. He crosses into the next lane and speeds past my parents. I turn around to look out the rear window, but Stooge One throws his arm out, pressing me back against the seat.

“Stay put,” he growls.

“I just wanted to look,” I reply with a huff, crossing my arms over my chest. Asshole.

Stephen swerves a sharp right, and Stalker—for lack of a better name—speeds past us, the rumble of his bike disappearing into traffic. The stooges keep a vigilant watch out the windows while Stephen slowly drives down the quiet residential streets, but Stalker doesn’t reappear.

Stephen narrows his eyes at me in the rearview mirror. “I want to know who the fuck that is.”

I narrow mine right back. “How the fuck would I know? The first time I saw him was at the hospital, the same time you did.”

“That wasn’t the first time. He’s been hanging around outside the gates for months. He drives off whenever you’re not in the car.”

My mouth dries. It has to be my friends, right? Who else could it be?

“Have you been fucking some kid at school? Is that why they’re following you around like a puppy?”

My nostrils flare. “How is that any of your business?”

He slaps his hand on the steering wheel and roars, “Because of bullshit like this! I made sure your classmates knew to leave you alone, but it’s apparent someone didn’t listen. And now I’ve got to deal with your messes.”

“That was you?” I ask, my fists clenching. “Why would you do that? You made the last four years of my life miserable!”

“Because your mother told me to. Don’t like it? Take it up with her.” He sneers at me through the mirror. “Oh, poor little princess didn’t have any friends? Boo-fucking-hoo. Now tell me who that guy is, or?—”

“Or what? I’m gone tomorrow, remember? I’ll never have to see your ugly face again.”

He barks a laugh and pulls into the event center hosting the graduation. The parking lot teems with vehicles, and groups of my fellow students mill around in their forest-green gowns while proud parents take photos.

Stephen drives past and swings around to the back of the building before parking the SUV.

He turns in his seat, and my heart skips a beat at the oily smile stretched across his face.

“Oh, dear. Did your mother forget to tell you? I’m accompanying you to the Martinelli’s.

Your fiancé was more than happy to allow his future wife’s devoted bodyguard to join his team.

You’ll be seeing my ugly face for the rest of your life. ”

I keep my features impassive, but inside, I’m screaming. It’ll never end, will it? How much more can I take before I snap and bathe Willowmen’s streets in blood?

We’re adding his name to the kill list.

My parents park beside us, and Stooge One yanks me out of the car. They escort me through the rear entrance and deposit me at the end of the row I’m assigned to.

“We’ll be guarding the exits, so don’t get any ideas,” Stephen murmurs while my parents wander off to find their assigned seats. I shrug his hand off my shoulder and inch my way down the H aisle, somehow not surprised to find a bouquet of daffodils on my assigned chair.

As I half listen to the excited chatter around me, my fingers trace over the delicate yellow petals.

Listening to talk of parties and college plans sends a sharp blade of longing through me.

That should have been my life. I should have had friends to gossip with and a boyfriend to gift my virginity to.

There should have been picnics on the beach, trips to theme parks, and days out shopping in the city.

There should have been laughter and joy and bright summer days.

Should’ve, should’ve, should’ve.

The lights dim and Mr. Wille steps onto the stage, taking his place at the podium beside the principal.

His gaze seems to zero in on me while speaking about education, lasting friendships, and the future.

I tune him out and lose myself in the familiar fantasy world I created long ago.

One where I have all the power and am free to mete out the justice they deserve.

“Move, Harrison,” the guy next to me hisses. I glance up, startled, and leap to my feet. Fuck. I hurry down the row and catch up with the others lining up to the right of the stage.

Mr. Langston calls names one at a time, and when he gets to mine, I take a deep breath and climb the fours stairs leading onto the stage. The bright lights blind me to the audience, but the hairs rise on the back of my neck and a frisson of warning slides down my back. Something’s wrong.

I stride across the stage and accept my diploma from Mr. Wille, shake Mr. Langston’s hand, turn my tassel, and move across the opposite side of the stage. Just as I reach the stairs, the lights go out, sending a wave of gasps and murmurs through the crowd.

Mirror Girl comes to life, and I spin around, sensing a presence behind me. Strong hands grab my upper arms and yank me behind the curtains while Mr. Langston makes a joke about old lighting and urges everyone to remain calm.

I open my mouth to scream, but my assailant slaps a hand over it, muffling the sound. He presses me against his muscular chest, and I lash out, clawing and kicking. He drags me farther and farther from the stage, adrenaline and panic flooding my system.

His hand wraps around my throat, his spiced jasmine scent sending my blood racing. “Sorry about this, little one,” he murmurs into my ear, and Mirror Girl roars when a sharp object pierces my neck.

I have just enough time to replay his words before tendrils of darkness grab hold of me and pull me under.