Page 35 of Upon Blooded Lips (Vengeance #1)
TESSA
E ric hauls Dr. Palmer out of the cell. He prostrates himself on the ground in front of me, tears streaming down his face. “I’m sorry,” he says, over and over, his voice a harsh whisper.
My lip curls in disgust. Where’s his fucking dignity? He sealed his lips for my parents’ money and ignored the extensive damage Presley’s attack caused. He could have been my savior but chose to be complicit in their abuse instead.
I don’t even know if my hysterectomy was medically necessary or if it was on Presley’s orders to prevent David from impregnating me.
If it was the latter, it was a useless endeavor—he was pretty much finished with me by then.
I guess it doesn’t matter either way. What’s done is done.
I don’t know if I ever would have wanted children anyway, because I wouldn’t want to pass on Robert’s or David’s genes.
The world is better off without abusive fucks like them.
But I hate that they stole the choice from me.
Dr. Palmer wraps his hands around my ankles and peers up at me with the most pitiful expression. “Mercy, Miss Harrison. I-I was just doing my job.”
A bitter laugh breaks free. “Your job? First, do no harm, right? Isn’t that the oath you took?
” I kick one leg out, followed by the other, dislodging his hold on me.
His touch is tainted, vile. He scoots back, lowering his head.
Oh, I don’t think so . Raking my fingers into his greasy hair, I yank his head back and force him to look at me.
“Doctors are mandatory reporters, Dr. Palmer. I was hanging on by a thread when my parents brought me to see you. But all you could see were the dollar signs. I begged you for help, and you ignored me.”
“I’m so?—”
“Shut up.” I let go of him and step away.
When we first came down here, Eric mentioned the room being set up as a maze.
And if the good doctor here wasn’t already a defeated sack of useless shit, I would use it to its full advantage and chase the fucker through it.
A part of me wants to force him to do it anyway, but I doubt he would.
He’d probably just lie there like he is now, begging pitifully. And that pisses me off even more.
This is my test after years of dreaming about revenge.
I want to hunt, to chase, to take down my prey and shred him with my knife.
I want to howl to the skies and bathe in blood.
I want it so fucking bad I can almost taste it.
But this bastard won’t give me that, and it’s like he’s taking something else away from me.
My pride. My chance at revenge. My motherfucking justice.
Mirror Girl whispers ideas to me, but I only half listen. Thundering rage builds inside me. I’m done being a doormat. I’m done letting people take from me. And I’m fucking done being denied the retribution I am owed.
“Do you have a metal bed frame?” I ask, turning to face Nate and Eric. Eric nods. “Jumper cables and something to attach them to?” More nods. I wave my hand at them, and they scurry off to the storage closets like eager little minions.
Kerry comes to stand beside me, chuckling. “Pathetic little thing,” she notes, shoving the groveling doctor away with her booted foot. “I would have chosen someone a little more… lively for you. But they wanted someone who had wronged you, so.” She gives a shrug.
“It’s fine. The plans for the others will give me more of a workout.”
Dr. Palmer whimpers at that, and The Duke and I exchange eye rolls.
Eric and Nate come back with the bed, deftly assembling it near an electrical outlet.
The Duke hauls the doctor to his feet, and he averts his gaze, a crimson flush mottling his face.
The stench of urine assaults me, and I hold back a gag.
“Gross,” she mutters, giving him a shake. “No one’s even touched you yet.”
She tosses him onto the bed, ignoring his pleas, and the three of them chain his hands and legs to the metal bars while I stand back and observe.
Once he’s secure, I grab the jumper cables and stare dumbfounded at the little box they sat next to it.
Eric waggles his eyebrows and hooks them up for me before attaching them to each of the four sides of the bed.
“Thank you,” I murmur.
He dips his head and gives me a quick kiss on the forehead before joining Nate and Kerry. They’re all being suspiciously silent, but I don’t mind. It’s my test, after all, and they’re grading my progress.
I glance down at the doctor, who trembles beneath my gaze. He mutters the Lord’s Prayer, hoping God will appear and save him. I scoff at that. If God ignored me all the times I begged him to save me from my parents and uncle, I doubt he’ll show up for this piece of shit.
“How do I turn it on?” I ask my spectators.
“The black switch on the top,” Nate answers, crossing his arms over his chest.
I hesitate for a moment, searching my conscience for any semblance of mercy, but I find none.
Reaching down, I turn it on, letting the current run through the bed.
Dr. Palmer’s eyes pop, his back bowing off the bed, mouth open, screams ripping from his throat.
I cut the power, and he collapses on his back, his chest heaving while trying to suck in lungfuls of air.
“There’s something I’ve always wondered,” I start, changing my mind about wanting to know the truth. “Was my hysterectomy medically necessary? Or did Presley pay you to do it?”
Dr. Palmer turns his head, his eyes filled with pain and a hint of resignation. “You didn’t have one.”
My fists clench. He’s going to lie to me? Now? I flick the switch again, and he screams, his body shaking against the chains. I flip it off again and shout, “What do you mean, I didn’t have one? Presley gloated about it after it was done. Are you saying she lied?”
“N-n-no. B-but she d-d?—”
Again, the current races through his body, and something deep inside me revels at the agony etched into his features. I switch it off, not wanting to fry his brain too much. Not yet, anyway. “Explain!” I shout, stepping toward him. “And don’t fucking lie to me.”
He takes a deep breath, his fingers shaking. “She w-wanted you to-to have one, but I d-didn’t give you one.”
“Bullshit! I never had another period after that!”
“I c-cut and cauterized y-your tubes and g-g-gave you an en-endometrial ablation. Y-you might not h-have survived the hysterectomy surgery, s-so I sterilized you and did that instead t-to stop your p-periods so she wouldn’t know.”
Eric whips out his phone, I assume to check what an endometrial ablation is. “He removed the lining of your uterus. It often stops periods.” He straightens his shoulders and meets my gaze. “It’s highly unlikely you’d be able to carry a child.”
I run through what I learned about in health class. If I remember correctly, sterilization doesn’t prevent me from harvesting my eggs, meaning if I ever wanted to have children—as slim as that is—I would just need a surrogate. But that’s a matter for future me to consider.
His confession makes a part of me consider having mercy, but then I remember the seven years of further hell I went through living with Robert and Presley.
If the doctor had done his duty and reported the abuse, I could have been free a long time ago.
Who knows how many other children have suffered because of him?
Or how many more will in the future? No, it’s my job to put an end to him. It’s better this way.
I flip the switch for the final time and move to stand next to Eric.
His hand brushes against mine, and I accept the gesture, linking our pinkies together.
It doesn’t take long for Dr. Palmer to stop screaming, and only seconds longer for his breathing to stop.
His body twitches, eyes fixed and unseeing at the ceiling.
Nate switches off the generator, and a hush falls over the room. My stomach revolts at the stench of urine, feces, and scorched flesh filling the room, but I tamp it down. I refuse to embarrass myself in front of them. I want to be the strong woman they deserve.
Nate’s visage fills my vision, and when I meet his eyes, something melts inside me. He tips my chin up and ghosts his lips over mine. “I’m so fucking proud of you, little one,” he murmurs, pulling me into a hug. “I knew you could do it.”
Tears mist my eyes, a sense of pride filling me, and I bury my face in his chest, breathing deeply of his scent. When I feel ready, I lean back and look up at him. “So I passed?”
“Flying colors, Tessa. All the fucking way.”
A smile wreaths my face. “Good. Kendrick and Grange are next.”