Page 39 of Upon Blooded Lips (Vengeance #1)

TESSA

T wisting back and forth in front of the full-length mirror, I double check my outfit. Thick black leggings, supple knee-high boots, and a tight black turtleneck. I’m going to sweat like a pig with the humidity, but it’ll be worth it.

Mirror Girl cackles in my mind, the sound loud enough to drone out Foster The People’s “Pumped Up Kicks” playing on my Alexa.

I wind my hair into a low bun and secure it.

There’s something missing. Ah. I stride into my closet and dig through the makeup drawer until I locate a blood-red lipstick.

I slather it on before pressing my lips to the mirror.

That’s better. While it might not mean as much as the original, having the visual reminder of my vow comforts me.

“Hey,” Eric says, startling me.

I spin around, placing my hands on my hips. “Don’t do that!” He chuckles and hands me black leather gloves. “Thanks,” I reply with a smile, sliding them on.

“God, you look perfect. Makes me want to dirty you up.” He slides a hand around my waist, his erection pressing against me.

“Haven’t you already done that?” I tease, batting my eyelashes at him.

Eric barks a laugh. “I’m sure we could be much, much dirtier.” He runs his nose over mine, and my eyes cross trying to keep him in focus.

I place my hands on his chest and give him a gentle push. “While I don’t doubt that, we’ve got a date with corrupt cops.”

He waggles his eyebrows and throws me a smirk. “Don’t deny it. I know you want my womb broom.”

I rear back, staring at him like he’s grown a second head. “Your what now?”

“My purple-helmeted warrior of love?”

“Oh god. Please stop.” I take a step back, then another, biting my lip to keep myself from laughing. He’s ridiculous.

Don’t encourage him. This is embarrassing.

“Where are you going?” he asks, his eyes twinkling. “Don’t you want my heat-seeking moisture missile?”

I turn on my heel and dash out of my room, shouting for Nate. Eric chases after me, and I let out a shriek when I peek over my shoulder and find him hot on my tail.

“Come back! I know you want my salted drizzle stick.”

“Eww!” I race down the stairs, my booted feet pounding against the wooden treads. Nate stands with his arms crossed at the bottom, an imperious eyebrow raised like he’s so done with us. I leap off the second to last step, and he catches me before I can slam into him.

“Go with it,” he breathes into my ear. “He only does shit like this when he’s feeling safe and loved.”

The crack in the wall around my heart widens further, threatening to topple it altogether.

I let out an oomph when Eric crashes into me, flinging his arms around us in a group hug.

“Fine, I admit it. I want your thrill drill,” I grumble against my better judgment.

His eyes light up, and he opens his mouth, but I shake my head, stopping him.

“ After we kill Beavis and Butt-Head. I’ve waited long enough for this. ”

“Deal,” he shoots back with an evil-looking smirk. “Do you think you can handle two weapons of ass destruction?”

I gulp and take a step back. Eric’s smirk transforms into a Cheshire grin, and he grabs hold of my hand to prevent me from escaping. “If I say yes, will you promise never to use those creepy-ass names ever again?”

He straightens his shoulders and holds four fingers up. “On my honor, I promise to never do so again, so help me Zeus, amen.”

Did he just butcher the Boy Scout oath?

“Then okay,” I reply, hoping I know what I’m getting myself into. It’s one thing to have one watch while I give the other a blow job, and another thing entirely to take them both together.

He whoops and spins me around before dipping me and crushing his mouth to mine. I lose myself in the kiss, in the excitement of the upcoming kill, and the promise of having both my men after.

Focus. Sex later, blood now.

Shut up.

Nate pulls me away and lowers himself to his knees.

He wraps a hand around my ankle and slides it upward, inch by inch.

Eric hands him something, which he attaches to my upper thigh with two straps.

My heart leaps when I realize it’s a sheath, and when he produces a stunningly exquisite knife with a crimson handle, my eyes well with tears.

My hands tremble as I accept it, and I gasp at the thorned roses carved into the blade and my name engraved on the handle. “It’s beautiful,” I whisper, running my fingertip over the deadly edge. A faint white line appears, drops of blood welling from the cut. “Thank you.”

Nate pushes himself to his feet and takes my hand, bringing it to his mouth and running his tongue over my finger, cleansing the blood from it.

“You’re welcome. Now, let’s go take care of Grange and Kendrick before I change my mind and fuck you right here.

It would be so damn hot to watch you slice open those bastards with my cum sliding down your legs. ”

Oh, sweet lord.

Jim’s Junkyard sits alone near the train tracks on the opposite side of town.

Jim, an acquaintance of The Duke, has kindly allowed us to use it tonight.

He was happy to turn a blind eye for the eye-watering fee Nate and Eric paid.

Guilt tries to rear its ugly head, but I push it down.

They’ve made it clear they’re willing and eager to help, so why shouldn’t I accept it?

Nate parks behind the lot. Tall piles of crushed cars rise like skyscrapers from the earth, the shattered headlights spying on us while we walk past. The scent of rust, rotting oil, and sunbaked metal hits us when we walk through the gates, which Jim left unlocked for us before departing for Florida to establish himself an alibi.

The lot is about the size of three football fields, filled with row upon row of rusted vehicles and motorcycles, car parts, and a separate indoor area for building and house reclamation items, like old claw-foot tubs, stained-glass windows, and church pews.

It’s a perfect place to hunt the bastards who refused to help a desperate, battered child escape her shitty parents.

Is it just my father who pays them off? Or are they in the pockets of other wealthy parents, paid to ignore the bruises and haunted eyes of their children?

I shake it off and wander through the yard, mapping its layout in my mind and noting the best areas to hide and props that may become useful.

While I’m doing this, Nate climbs up a tower of cars, settling himself into the top one.

He’ll set up a sniper nest for himself in case anything goes wrong tonight but won’t interfere unless I need him to.

Meanwhile, Eric checks the floodlights and sets up the sound system. When he’s finished, he hands me a prepaid cell phone, and my lips curl into a smile. My eyes shutter closed, and I take a deep breath before punching in the memorized number.

“Grange.”

“O-Officer Grange,” I say, forcing a scared and breathy tone.

“Who is this?”

“It’s T-Tessa Har-Harrison. Please?—”

The sound of a car screeching to a halt and a mumbled conversation comes through the phone. Eric raises a brow, and I grin before becoming serious.

“Tessa? Where are you?” Officer Kendrick barks.

“I got away from him. Please, help me.”

“Tell us where you are,” Kendrick says, his voice cajoling. He’s probably got dollar signs in his eyes. If he brings me in, he’ll get the reward money.

“I’m at the junkyard. Please hurry. He’s coming.” I hang up and hand the phone back to Eric. He wipes it clean, drops it on the ground, and stomps on it before kicking it under a nearby Toyota. After fitting my earpiece and checking it works, he places his hands on my shoulders.

“Ready, angel?”

“Ready.”

A chillness spreads through my body, invading every cell, infusing my bones with shards of ice. My face hardens, any trace of softness dissipating as I ready myself for what’s coming.

Here, piggy, piggy. Let’s play.