Page 12 of Upon Blooded Lips (Vengeance #1)

THE UNSEEN

S tanding in a dark corner, I watch Tessa take her seat. Unlike her classmates, she shows no enthusiasm. It’s like she’s lost in her own little world, merely existing instead of living.

I scan the audience and locate her parents. They talk animatedly with their neighbors, unaware and uncaring of their daughter’s misery. My fists clench, remembering the gossip I overheard backstage. Does Tessa want to get married tomorrow? Does she even know who the Martinellis are?

Mr. Langston gives the cue, and I make my way onto the stage with the other participating faculty members. I need to do something. I need to get her out of here.

As the principal drones on, my mind works furiously to come up with an idea. Watching over her is one thing, but this is something else entirely. I don’t have enough information or enough time to execute a successful plan.

Please, Father, guide me.

After a succession of speeches, Mr. Langston begins to call up rows in alphabetical order. I nod to each student and offer congratulations—even to the four assholes who attacked Tessa— and try not to laugh at the makeup covering the words I carved into their foreheads.

If only they knew the person who did it was right in front of them.

“Tessa Harrison.”

No one claps. Why the fuck is no one clapping? She doesn’t even seem to notice, just walks across the stage like an emotionless robot. As she nears the end of the faculty line, the lights go out, plunging the room into near total darkness.

Over the excited noises of the crowd comes the sound of a scuffle. My instincts scream at me to move. I race across the stage and throw myself between the curtains, slamming right into someone.

“Sorry, man,” he says. And everything goes black.

“Hey.” Something prods me, and I groan. “Hey, mister. You can’t sleep here.” More prodding.

I force my eyes open, wincing at the bright lights.

An older man holding a broom stands over me.

Glancing around, I realize I’m sitting on the floor backstage, propped up against a wall and half hidden by the curtains.

The back of my head throbs and waves of pain radiate through my skull when I move it.

“What time is it?” I rasp out, forcing myself to my feet. The room sways before steadying. When I find the fucker who knocked me out, I’m going to string him up by his balls.

The guy peers at me with a furrowed brow. “You part of all that hoopla?”

“What hoopla?”

He rests his hands on the top of the broom, and I swallow back a groan. It’s a classic storyteller’s pose, and I don’t have time for a long-winded tale.

“Well, I heard some guy had a heart attack and died in his SUV.” He scratches his head. “Some unfortunate kids cuttin’ through the parking lot found him.”

“I don’t know anything about that,” I say, inching toward the exit. Doesn’t sound like “hoopla” to me.

“Oh, but I didn’t mention the best part.

Turns out the guy was some rich girl’s bodyguard.

And they can’t find her. Poof! Gone, just like that.

Walked across the stage and disappeared like a ghost.” He chuckles when I freeze, my blood running cold.

“Yeah, the cops were everywhere, and the poor girl’s mom fainted. It’s all over the news.”

“Wow, that’s quite a story for Willowmen,” I say, attempting to appease him. “I’ve gotta run. Have a good day.” Desperation nips at my heels. I need to find Tessa, or the last thirteen years of my life will have meant nothing.

“Six fifty-two.”

I glance over my shoulder. “Excuse me?”

“The time. It’s six fifty-two. In the morning.”

Fuck!

I slam the door to my tiny studio apartment, rage simmering through me. I pace back and forth, running my hands over my head.

She’s gone. She’s fucking gone.

I spent all day scouring Willowmen and came up empty.

She’s not at the school, church, or that little bookstore she likes.

I checked the four assholes’ houses, then drove up and down the streets, my eyes peeled for anyone with blonde hair.

I even scaled the wall of her parents’ pretentious gated community, only to find the hole I made in the wall in her backyard filled in.

It didn’t prevent me from climbing over it, but it pissed me off even more.

After prowling around the property, all I found were her parents screaming at each other for losing her.

At least Stephen is dead. I would have killed the fucker myself if it wouldn’t have brought unneeded attention.

God asked one thing of you—to protect the girl. You failed. You’ll remain an Unseen forever, roaming the earth in loneliness and solitude.

With a roar, I flip over the sofa, self-hatred pouring off me in waves. My mother was right. I’m useless. A disgrace to God. Undeserving of anything good in this life.

Mrs. Procházka, my downstairs neighbor and landlord, pounds on her ceiling, shouting at me to be quiet. My jaw clenches, and I stomp on the floor in reply. Not today, you old hag. When the pounding resumes, I storm across the room and down the narrow staircase of the converted house.

She cracks her door open, the thin security chain rattling against its hook, and peers out at me with her faded-blue eyes. “Piss off, you useless bastard,” she shouts, morphing into my mother with her cruel words that stab like knives.

I lose myself to the haze, barely recognizing I’ve broken into her house.

Or that the ancient Czech busybody is railing against the “rude man preventing her from watching her stories” while jabbing me in my chest with her bony finger.

I definitely don’t feel my hands around her wrinkled throat or register the terror in her eyes.

Not until I snap out of it and find myself standing over her body.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

I jog back upstairs and collect my meager belongings.

Since I don’t own much, it all fits in a backpack.

After double-checking I haven’t left anything incriminating behind, I go back downstairs and arrange Mrs. Procházka’s body on her 1970s couch.

I make the sign of the cross and take a moment to pray her soul finds peace with our Heavenly Father.

When I’m done, I dribble vodka over her and light a cigarette, breathing deeply of the heady smoke before dropping it in her lap. The flames catch and spread up her dress, the dancing light mesmerizing me and holding me captive.

Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.