Page 5 of Upon Blooded Lips (Vengeance #1)

NATE

H unting, killing, and fucking. They’re what drive the demon within, what keeps him satisfied and satiated. Doing all three at the same time? Even fucking better. Unfortunately, tonight isn’t about bloodshed.

My eyes scan the security screens at Club Oblivion, searching for our target. There’s no way Rafe Martinelli would refuse an exclusive VIP experience at our club. They’re like gold dust in Chicago’s elite clubbing scene, and no one who receives one turns one down.

“There he is,” Eric says, pointing at the screen. The problem with children of powerful parents is that they think they’re invincible, that their daddy’s money and influence will forever keep them safe. So it isn’t a complete surprise to see him enter our club alone. Foolish boy.

Eric brings up the parking lot on the biggest screen. There, parked beside Rafe’s ostentatious yellow Lamborghini, are two blacked-out SUVs. The dull glow of a cigarette cherry lights up the face of one of his known bodyguards.

“At least he’s not completely stupid,” I mutter, trailing Rafe from one screen to the next. “Should we let him have a little fun first or grab him now?”

“I wouldn’t mind a little fun first,” Eric grumbles, glancing up at me with a mischievous grin. I tangle my fingers into his black curls and yank his head back. His gray eyes sparkle back at me, and my gaze catches on his lips.

“Work first, pleasure later,” I promise, releasing him. I duck through the doorway, and we stride through the labyrinth of corridors hidden inside the walls of the club. “I’ll take the bathroom, you take the bar.”

Eric salutes me and veers out of the way of my intended slap with a laugh. “Missed me.”

“I won’t later.” The little bastard shakes his ass before turning down a hall and disappearing toward the bar.

Brat.

Our relationship is unconventional, but I don’t give a shit what anyone thinks.

We aren’t blood related, but the fact we grew up as brothers would make many condemn us to hell.

It’s not like we just decided one day to fuck each other.

It was years of stolen glances and turning away when we caught each other changing.

Of tamping down on feelings and overcoming the shame that came with them.

I’ve always loved him, more than anything else in this world.

Maybe it was due to making myself his protector when my mom started beating him.

Or the times I shielded him from my father’s fists.

Perhaps it happened when I taught myself how to cook when I was seven so we wouldn’t starve.

Or the times I helped him with his homework.

It’s only been the two of us since the day his birth mother abandoned him on our doorstep at three weeks old. I can’t remember ever not feeling protective of him.

The horrors we suffered growing up made us wary of others, and when our father removed us from school, it further isolated us. We couldn’t rely on anyone but ourselves, and over time, it developed into more.

We’ve fucked a few women over the years but keep coming back to each other. We’re the one constant that never changes. He has my back, and I have his. We’re eternal, and nothing and no one can change that.

It may be wrong, immoral, abominable, but society’s laws and so-called morality mean little to me.

They allow children to be tortured, raped, killed, and abused.

They turn the other way when politicians, judges, and cops allow criminals and the rich to go free.

Women are told to suck it up and be better wives while their husbands beat them to death.

Churches shuffle pedophile priests and ministers from one parish to another, allowing them new opportunities and new congregations to prey upon.

So fuck them. Fuck them all. I’ll love who I want, society be damned. I’ll kill anyone who tries to take what’s mine.

I come to a stop at the end of the corridor, where an employees-only door sits adjacent to the men’s bathroom, my annoyance growing with every passing second. Tessa has never asked for our help before, so I’m going to make sure she gets it.

We never saw her again after the day we babysat her.

The discovery that we had family besides our father was a surprise neither of us were expecting.

Daniel never spoke of his sister or niece again, but neither Eric nor I ever forgot her.

It wasn’t until after we engineered Daniel’s death that we discovered their names—Robert, Presley, and Tessa Harrison.

We were too young to do anything, though.

Even after the astronomical life insurance policy paid out—that we received after Eric hacked into their systems and created a policy and record of payments—we had no training or skills.

We couldn’t just swoop in and kidnap an eight-year-old kid, no matter how much we hated Presley and wanted to get her out of there.

At eighteen, we weren’t equipped to deal with the police, FBI, or DCFS.

We came up with the pen pal idea a few years later, and over time convinced her to trust us.

We kept our identities a secret, in case Presley or Robert ever found out.

Our names may be common, but there’s no way Presley wouldn’t realize it was us.

If we’re going to help Tessa escape from them, they can’t suspect we had anything to do with it.

Things will be different in a few weeks, once Tessa’s eighteen.

Police are less concerned about missing adults, and DCFS won’t be involved.

The only wrench in the works is the Martinellis.

They’ve been promised a bride and will expect Tessa to show up at the church the day after her birthday, unless we can do something about it.

Fucking Presley. We had plans in place that we’ve had to move up because of her interference. Not only that, but we try to stay out of Mafia business, and now I have to broker a deal that could cause unknown repercussions down the line.

“He’s heading your way,” Eric says through my earbud.

“Noted. Come in from the other direction.”

“Rodger me. Oops, sorry. Roger that.” The line goes quiet, but I know Eric. Three… two… one. “But you better rodger me later.”

“If you don’t get your ass in here now, I’ll do it without lube.”

“Kinky.”

I snort and pull surgical gloves from my jeans pocket and snap them on, cursing the small size. When you’re built like a professional basketball player, trying to find anything to fit you well is a pain in the ass. After adding a ski mask, I peer out the small door window, waiting for my prey.

Rafe makes his way down the hall and disappears into the bathroom. I sneak out and crouch behind the door, and when it opens, I grab him around the neck and cover his mouth. He flails and kicks, but I ignore him and yank him back into the corridor, ensuring the door shuts and locks behind us.

“Calm down. I won’t hurt you. We just need to talk.” Rafe tries to bite my hand, and I roll my eyes. “Look. I really don’t want to knock you out, but we are going to have a conversation. It’s up to you whether you come of your own volition or if I knock you out first.”

His muscles remain stiff, but he nods. I release him and take a step back. He spins around and scowls at the mask, but I’m not removing it. I don’t trust the little prick one bit, and I don’t want to deal with his dad showing up at my door.

“What do you want?” he asks, rubbing his neck.

“Not here. Walk to the end of the hall.”

“You know who my father is, right? He’ll kill you for this.”

My hand darts out and shoves his shoulder. “Keep moving.” Rafe sighs and continues walking, peering over his shoulder now and again. I don’t blame him. I wouldn’t want me at his back either.

Eric waits outside an empty office, wearing a matching set of gloves and mask. He ushers Rafe inside. “Take a seat.”

Rafe throws himself into the chair while Eric and I block the door.

“Well, talk,” the little fucker says, gaze pinging between us.

“Tessa Harrison,” Eric begins, and Rafe bursts into laughter.

“You want to start a war over a girl?” A low growl works its way up my throat, and Rafe’s laughter dries up. “Dude, I’m gay. I don’t want the girl, but my father owes her uncle a favor, and I drew the short straw. There’s nothing I can do about it.”

“I thought the Martinellis weren’t into human trafficking,” I say.

Rafe’s mouth curls in disgust. “We aren’t. We leave that shit to other families.”

“Like the Gianellis?”

Rafe leaps to his feet, his body vibrating with distrust and rage. “Who the fuck are you, and how do you know so much?”

“It’s what we do. So if you’re not into trafficking, what the hell are you doing mixed up with David Harrison?”

Rafe crosses his arms. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“David Harrison is a pedophile and has ties to the Gianelli’s trafficking ring. Loose ties, granted, but they’re there. If I were in your shoes, I wouldn’t risk my family’s reputation getting sullied by dealing with someone like him.”

Rafe lowers himself into the chair and drums his fingers on his thigh. “So, what are you offering?”

“Tessa’s going to go missing soon, and we don’t want blowback from your family. I need you to convince your father that her disappearance is the best thing that could have happened to you.”

Eric shifts beside me. “We’ll email you proof of David’s involvement. That should be enough to sway your father. We’ll also set up an offshore account and deposit a million dollars into it as a thank you,” he says.

Rafe perks up at the mention of money. It may not be a lot in the grand scheme of things, but his father’s money comes with strings, and ours would be his, free and clear.

“One more thing,” I add. “We’ll owe you a favor. Trust me, you want that ace up your sleeve.”

He sits for a moment, then nods. “Deal.” He pushes himself to his feet and holds out his hand, eyeing our gloves but deciding not to comment on them. We shake, and Eric escorts him back to the bathrooms while I head to the communications room.