Page 44 of Upon Blooded Lips (Vengeance #1)

ERIC

T essa sprawls on the chair beside mine, swinging her leg while reading one of her smutty books.

While I’m used to working alone, her company is comforting.

I itch to know what her book’s about, and I open my mouth to ask but close it again, turning back to my screen.

Focus, dammit. I can always check it later for new ideas.

Are there actually men out there who get jealous of women reading romance novels or using toys?

Why? Her books give me all sorts of new ideas, and if toys can aid us in making her scream her pleasure to the heavens, then they’re A-okay with me.

That reminds me. I read about a toy that drives women wild. I’ll need to order it and see if it’s as good as it promises.

Focus. Right.

I’ve spent every spare waking moment crafting Robert’s downfall.

It’s difficult, meticulous work to set him up just right.

It needs to be believable and have no visible traces back to us, which means covering my tracks so well no one will even think it’s a setup, let alone consider searching for an alternate explanation.

And timing is everything, like a line of dominos waiting to fall.

One misplaced piece ruins the project, and I don’t do failure, not when it comes to my work.

There’s a reason there are only two other people on the planet—that I’m aware of—who even come close to my level, and it’s not because I’m lazy or a slacker.

Coding is in my blood, as intrinsically a part of me as Nate and Tessa.

What’s thrown a wrench in everything is the appearance of Special Agent Susannah Gerhardt.

The biggest question is why she didn’t bring Tessa in when she recognized her.

I may not be up-to-date on their missing-person procedure, but it seems logical she would have at least wanted to question her.

I reach across my desk and pick up the business card she left Tessa, flipping it between my fingers like a magician with his cards.

Hacking into the FBI is always a dangerous business.

While their firewalls and protections are first-class, they aren’t a match for my skills.

I’ve never been a braggart, but the simple fact is I’ve never found a system I couldn’t get into.

The CIA, MI6, and SVR sites have so far remained untouched, but only because my brother slapped me over the head and threatened to chain me up in the basement the one and only time I suggested the idea.

I was fifteen when I first hacked the FBI.

The problem was that I might have been the tiniest bit cocky at that age and thought I’d gotten away with it.

In essence, I had—they couldn’t trace it back to me.

But they knew I’d been there and went into lockdown, increasing their security and shoring up their defenses.

It must have driven them mad, not being able to find me.

But in all their efforts, they never located the back door I left behind, and the next time I tried when I was eighteen, it didn’t register my presence.

I sign into the private server I created and set it to bounce the signal around every two seconds.

Even with my back door, it doesn’t hurt to take precautions.

Once I’m in, I zero in on Agent Gerhardt’s file.

Twenty-eight, dark hair and eyes, five foot seven.

Graduated from the University of Illinois summa cum laude, then went on to Quantico, where she finished her training in the top ten percent of her class.

Flipping to another monitor, I search her name and lean back in my chair, reading through the various news articles. “What’s that?” Tessa asks, getting up from her chair and leaning over the back of mine. “Oh, fuck. Do you think that’s why she didn’t bring me in for questioning?”

“Maybe. And then there’s this.” I point at the FBI screen and flick through more pages.

“She’s been working with Interpol, hunting trafficking rings.

Wait. Look at this.” She wraps her arms around my neck and settles her chin on my shoulder.

I breathe in her scent, letting it soothe the restless energy that so often plagues me.

“Oh my God,” she whispers, her breath fanning over my ear. “They’re going after my uncle. Eric, this is bad. How are we going to kill him if the FBI is looking for him?”

I tug on her arm, moving her around the chair and into my lap. She settles against me, doing a little wiggle to get comfortable that makes me cut back a groan. If we keep fucking, we’ll never get anything done.

“We could always let the FBI have him,” I reply, already knowing her answer but wanting to put it out there, anyway. “Do you know what prisoners do to pedophiles in prison? He wouldn’t last long.”

She shakes her head. “No way. I deserve justice for what he did to me, and I’m not talking about the legal kind. I’m going to be the one to end him, not some prisoner.” She pauses before adding, “And it won’t be quick, like Cletus’s and Ralph’s were. He’s going to suffer.”

It takes me a second to get The Simpson’s reference. “Mmm, I love it when you get all murdery.”

She twists in my lap and cups my cheek. “I?—”

Out of the eight screens in front of me, all but one goes black. An alarm blares, loud and incessant, almost covering the sound of Nate’s footsteps racing toward my office. I unceremoniously dump Tessa back in her chair before working to cut off the alarm.

It’s never gone off before, not once. No one has tried to breach my defenses or hack into my system. I’m too careful, too paranoid, too distrustful, too cautious. “Goddammit,” I shout, my fingers flying over the keyboard, lines of code filling the single screen as I work to keep the intruder out.

“What’s going on?”

Nate blows into the room with the force of a tornado. “Who is it?” he asks.

“Don’t know,” I reply, answering both of them at once.

I can’t think about them right now. If someone gets all the way in, we’re fucked.

They’ll discover we’re The Brothers, and either blackmail us with the information or turn us over to the feds.

Does Illinois have the death penalty? I don’t know, and I don’t want to find out.

The screen flickers, blacking out for a second before ones and zeros fall from the top of the screen. What the fuck? The numbers pile up before twisting and turning into an oval shape. It looks a little like… motherfucker. Like some kind of mask.

“It’s The Unseen,” I whisper, my blood chilling. How the fuck?

“Who’s The Unseen?” Nate demands, leaning over Tessa’s chair to peer at the screen. The mask mirrors him, moving closer and turning like it’s looking back at him.

The numbers fade away, and a line of text appears in large bold letters across the middle of the screen.

RELEASE THE GIRL

I slide the camera cover closed, preventing him from seeing us before going back to typing, trying to find where he’s hiding.

He slides through my system like he’s the one who created it.

“Oh, no you don’t, asshole,” I mutter, blocking his attempt to blast through the defenses protecting our work files.

He redirects and attempts to get into the house’s security system, which is separate from the one I use for the land.

The gate screen comes back on, and I squint, trying to make out what’s attached to the gates.

“They’re daffodils,” Tessa says in a strangled whisper.

The picture goes dark for a second, then switches back on.

This time, a man stands just outside the gates.

I zoom the camera in to get a better look.

He’s tall, about my height, and wearing bike leathers and gloves.

An oval mirrored mask covers his face, and even though I can’t see them, I can feel his eyes staring through the camera.

Nate tears out of the room, presumably to go after him.

Fuck. We haven’t rehearsed this enough, and not at all with Tessa.

Nate will hunt The Unseen down if he can get out there fast enough to follow him.

Meanwhile, there’s nothing I can do but keep him out of the system and wait for my brother to come back.

The monitor goes blank before static fills the dark rectangle. What did he do, shoot out the camera?

Tessa stays quiet beside me, like she knows I need to concentrate. I could just unplug everything, but doing so would shut down the sensors in the forest, allowing him onto the property without me knowing. What if that’s the point?

“Tessa, lock the door and shove your chair under the handle.” She does as I ask, and when she wanders back over, I yank her onto my lap, needing to feel her close while I work. “Do you have your knife on you?”

She nods. “What’s going on?”

“Don’t worry. Everything will be fine, okay? Just sit with me while I take care of this.”

She leans back against me, situating herself so I can freely use my arms. Time seems to suspend, but it’s likely less than five minutes before he vanishes and the screens come back on one by one.

I flick through the cameras and breathe a sigh of relief that he only took out the one at the gate.

It’s easy enough to replace. The security sensors seem undamaged, but I run a diagnostic on all of them to make sure.

But how are we going to tell Tessa our home is no longer safe?