Page 45 of Upon Blooded Lips (Vengeance #1)
NATE
T he steel roller door creeps open, and I white-knuckle the steering wheel, rage simmering in my blood. How dare he come here? How dare he threaten my family? When I get my hands on him…
The moment it’s high enough for me to fit the car through, I rev the engine and tear out of the garage, the wheels spinning on the driveway.
I press the button on the visor, opening the gates just in time for me to squeeze out of them.
My gaze narrows on The Unseen, who ducks into the forest like a coward.
I ease up on the gas, coasting down the street, following him while he races through the trees.
I’d get out and chase him down if I was sure he hadn’t set a trap.
Unfortunately, we didn’t think to put cameras or sensors outside of our property, but hindsight is twenty-twenty.
Not that it matters now, anyway. It seems everyone and their dog know where we live, which is unacceptable.
If I can’t keep Tessa and Eric safe, then we have to leave.
If I was the maudlin type, I might feel some kind of way over what I’m going to have to do, but I don’t have the luxury of sitting around and moping about it.
I can always build us another house once this is all over. Maybe somewhere with less harsh winters.
I slam on the breaks when The Unseen tears out of the forest on his Harley, almost skidding out before the bike rights itself and roars ahead.
My lip curls into a snarl, and I stomp on the gas, the car leaping forward in pursuit.
He peers over his shoulder briefly before concentrating on the road.
I creep up behind him, only a car length behind.
He speeds up and shoots ahead before spinning the bike on one wheel so he’s facing me.
Motherfucker. I duck when a bullet slams into the passenger side of the windshield, leaving behind a spider web of cracked glass.
My jaw aches with how hard I grit my teeth.
I open my window and return fire, and while the bullet misses, it forces him to turn around again.
He banks a hard right, hoping to lose me.
He doesn’t. I stay on his tail until the forest disappears into cornfields, and then he does what I was afraid he’d do all along—he drives into one, disappearing into the waving stalks.
I hit the wheel with my fist, furious at myself for choosing to drive the inconspicuous sedan over the pickup truck.
My mental map of the area appears in my mind’s eye, and I run through his likely exit point, finally choosing the one that would put him out on the highway.
From there, he could go south to Chicago, or north toward Wilmette.
Either way, he’d lose me among the traffic, and if he lives in Willowmen, he could always double back without me knowing.
After making a hasty U-turn, I head back in the other direction, blowing past our house and turning left at the end of the road, flooring the accelerator.
He won’t be able to go as fast as me through the corn rows, so I might catch up to him.
While driving, I go back over conversations Tessa had with us over the years, all the way back to when we first started being her pen pals.
She said The Unseen had been leaving her daffodils for as long as she can remember.
What age did she say? Five or six? That means he’s been watching her for over a decade.
It’s too bad she assumed they were from us, but I can’t blame her for not asking.
She was just a kid back then. So who could he be?
The prime suspects would have to be Mr. Wille and the four douchebags from school.
No, it can’t be them, because they would have been too young.
Plus, The Unseen already punished them, which I’m still pissed off about, since Eric and I had plans for them.
One more reason to kick that bastard’s ass.
Stephen and Dr. Palmer would be on the list if they were still alive. I’d even suspect David, if I didn’t have irrefutable proof he was in Europe during her graduation. Who else is there? Her dentist? Hair stylist? Some creep from Bean My Guest?
I turn left again and merge into the light traffic, keeping my eyes peeled for a motorcycle while heading up the on ramp. Nothing. Where the fuck did he go? “Call Eric.” The screen on the dashboard lights up, and the sound of the phone dialing rings through the car.
“Did you find him?” he asks when he picks up.
“No, but I’m on the highway looking for him now. I’ll be back soon.”
“Okay, see you then.”
I disconnect and sweep my gaze over the surrounding cars, but there’s still no sight of him.
The longer I drive, the more the rage builds inside me until all I see is red.
I don’t like Mr. Wille. He’s always touching me and saying things that make me scared.
I think he’s like Uncle David. Tessa’s words from eighth grade replay like a broken record, and self-hatred fills me.
I should have taken him out years ago, but I was too busy with building the house and our business.
What was the point of it all if I couldn’t keep her safe? And now I’ve allowed The Unseen to take away her home, the one place she was supposed to feel secure after a lifetime of terror.
So much for being the protector. You couldn’t keep a pet rock safe, let alone the ones you love.
I swing the wheel, veering the car across two lanes and ignoring the irate honking from the other vehicles. Mr. Wille is the only viable suspect, and if he’s not The Unseen, well, at least there will be one less threat to Tessa, even if it is years too late to matter.
The smooth wooden handle of the machete feels at home in my hand as I creep up the stairs leading to the back porch.
White peeling paint hangs from the rotting wood and torn flaps of window screens sway in the light breeze.
I guess St. Mary’s and Annunciation don’t pay their teachers much.
Luckily for me, that means Hal Wille lives not too far from Jim’s Junkyard, where houses are few and far between and people keep their noses out of other folks’ business.
From out a cracked window spills the sounds of a TV playing, covering the squeak of the screen door opening, its hinges rusty from disuse.
The back door is one of those flimsily made ones that doesn’t stand a chance against my boot crashing into it.
It smashes open, slamming against the wall, the faux wood crushed under the force of the blow.
Hal appears from the living room, poking his head out like a scared little mouse.
I spin the machete, letting it slice through the air, and he shrieks, shutting the door with a thud.
The laughter that glides down the hallway is dark and malicious, and he cries out when I slam into the room, knocking him to the floor.
Did he really think he could keep me out? That he could spend years tormenting Tessa without recourse?
He crab crawls backward until he hits the wall. “Wh-what do you want?”
A grin flashes across my face as I step toward him. “This is for Tessa.”
The blade slams into his thigh, and he throws his head back and screams when I rip open the flesh.
Fresh warm blood arcs through the air, decorating the worn nineties wallpaper with crimson rivulets.
I block out his pleas, his prayers, his moans.
They mean nothing. I slice through the eyes that looked lustfully at a child.
I chop off the hands that dared to touch her.
The machete becomes a part of me, a weapon forged to do my bidding.
Sweat and blood mingle on my face, the salty, copper taste mixing on my tongue like the most delicious of cocktails.
He lets out a pained breath when my foot lands in his groin before going limp. I step back, coming back to myself. Blood, flesh, and gore cover the ceiling, walls, and carpet. But the fucker is still alive, against all odds. And I can’t have that.
I kick him over onto his stomach, pick him up by the back of his shirt, and haul him over to the coffee table.
I arrange him so his head hangs off the edge, then bring the machete down in a swift arc.
The first blow opens the back of his neck.
The second severs his spinal cord. The third sends his head bouncing to the floor.
It only takes a few minutes to gather up the body parts and bundle them into a large suitcase I find tucked in the bedroom closet.
I stuff it into the plastic-lined car trunk and grab the fuel can I keep in there for occasions such as these.
The heady fumes fill my senses as I splatter gasoline all over the inside of the house, leaving a trail to the backyard.
After tossing the empty container onto the porch, I step back and light a match, letting it flicker in my hand before dropping it.
I’m not a firebug, but there’s something immensely satisfying about watching the flames consume the evidence of my sins. Once the porch is burning nicely, I jump into the car and speed away, the orange glow disappearing in the rearview mirror within seconds.
I lope up the front steps and throw open the door.
Tessa comes out of the kitchen, stopping dead when she sees me with my hand behind my back and my clothes covered in blood.
“I’ve got a surprise for you.” I swing my arm back like a professional bowler and send Mr. Wille’s head somersaulting down the hallway.
It lands at Tessa’s feet like an offering, which it is. That, and an apology.
She leans over to get a better look at it, and the blue and white floral sundress she’s wearing lifts at the back, showing off her legs. I can’t help myself. Maybe it’s the remnants of my bloodlust or the need to be forgiven for not protecting her like I should have, but I need inside her, now.