Page 52 of Upon Blooded Lips (Vengeance #1)

NATE

Willowmen, Illinois

M y phone rings, and Ryan Grant’s name flashes on the screen. “Hey Ryan. What’s up?”

“I’ve got a job for you if you’re interested. Five million.”

I let out a whistle. It’s rare a single job goes for that much. “What are the particulars?”

“There’s a presidential candidate going on tour tomorrow in Des Moines to drum up support. Thinks he’s the next Kennedy or something, and he’s doing the whole motorcade in a convertible schtick. The shot needs to be made from the helicopter, and you’re the only one I trust to pull it off.”

I run a hand through my hair, my mind racing.

Thank God we use encrypted phones, because the NSA would be all over our asses right now.

I know exactly which candidate he’s talking about.

He’s a dangerous right-wing fucker with too much money and too little brains.

His election could lead to the downfall of America.

“Where do you want to meet?”

“I’ve just finished a job in South Dakota, and I’m going to stop over in Omaha for the night to refuel. Can you meet me there ASAP? I’ve got two rooms booked at The Farnam. Once the mission’s complete, I can drop you off on my way back to New York.”

“What time does the parade start?”

“Noon.”

I do some quick calculations, thinking it over.

Leaving Tessa and Eric alone makes me itchy.

I don’t like the idea. But Grange, Kendrick, and Robert are dead.

Presley’s locked up, and Eric successfully fooled the FBI into thinking David’s in Brazil, so Agent Gerhardt is off on a wild goose chase.

As for The Unseen, we haven’t seen hide nor hair of him since we moved out of the house.

I’ll only be gone a little over a day, and the kill room is secure. Barring any difficulties, I should be back around two. Maybe we can head into the city for dinner and blow off some steam at Club Oblivion.

“Okay. I’ll get the next available flight out and meet you at the hotel.”

“Excellent. See you soon.”

I hang up and turn around to find my brother and Tessa with their arms crossed and wearing identical indignant expressions.

“Where are you going?” Eric asks.

I fill them in, laying it all out. When Tessa hears who the target is, she deflates a little. “I hate that guy,” she says with a shudder. “Okay, fine, you can go.”

My laughter fills the room, and I scoop her up and kiss the tip of her nose.

“Thanks for the permission, little one. Now you two be good and don’t leave the kill room while I’m gone.

The fridge is stocked, and if you get bored, you can start setting up for David.

And if you fuck, make sure you record it so I can watch when I get back. ”

“Perv,” Tessa mutters under her breath when I set her back down.

“I heard that.” I give her a slap on her bottom, and a grin flashes across my face as she wanders off, rubbing her ass.

“You’ll be careful, right?” Eric says quietly beside me. “Won’t the Secret Service be all over him?”

“I’ll be in Ryan’s chopper. We’ll be in and out before they even know what’s happening.

” I give him a side hug. “Promise me you won’t leave.

Don’t let her talk you into going to that damn coffee shop or anything.

Keep our girl safe for me until I get back.

” He nods, and I press a kiss to the top of his head.

As I head to the airport, tendrils of unease creep over me, and I can’t shake the feeling of impending doom.

Omaha, Nebraska

Tuesday 8:30 p.m.

Ryan spreads the maps over the small dining table in his suite.

“Here’s the route he’s taking.” He traces his finger over a red line leading through Des Moines.

“I sent a team over yesterday to plant rifles in vacant rooms in buildings along the route. We need to make it look like the bullet came from one of them, so you’ll get five chances to hit the mark.

The weapons are all linked to a domestic terrorist group.

If all goes to plan, the authorities will find the rifles and link it to them, killing two birds with one stone. ”

I commit the route and the designated buildings to memory in case anything goes wrong tomorrow. But I trust Ryan. He couldn’t have built the Charon Group into what it is today without being meticulous. It won’t be an easy job, though.

“I appreciate you coming in on this,” he says. “I don’t personally know anyone else that could make that shot.” He slides a bottle of bourbon and a glass toward me, and I help myself to two fingers, giving it a swirl.

“There are a few military guys I can think of,” I reply before taking a sip of the liquor, enjoying the burn sliding down my throat.

He chuckles. “Yeah, well, would you bring them in on this?”

“Nope.” My mouth twitches.

“And besides, I trust you.” He leans back in his chair and appraises me. “You know, you and your brother always have a job if you ever want one. I could use someone with your skills.”

This isn’t the first time he’s asked us to join the Charon Group, but I’ve always declined, since it was essential to stay in Illinois in case Tessa needed us.

“You’re not exactly lacking in the sniper department yourself, and you have Jace.

He’s an excellent hacker,” I reply, dodging his offer.

Perhaps it’s something we can consider one day.

Ryan hums. “Your sniper skills aren’t all you bring to the table, you know. The offer is always good. Think about it.”

I lean forward and click my glass to his. “I will.”

Des Moines, Idaho

Wednesday 12:40 p.m.

There’s something elementally thrilling about helicopters.

The blades whirling above, the way your heart beats faster, making your blood sing through your veins.

The way the wind whips through your hair as you lie on the floor, peering through your scope, measuring wind speed, distance, and curvature.

Below, people line the streets, blindly cheering for a man who spouts false promises while inciting hatred and division. He’d be a disaster for our nation, and I applaud the person brave enough to put a hit out on him.

The first two points were a no-go. While the team chose the best positions they could, once the chopper was in place, I knew I wouldn’t be able to make the shot. It’s imperative to get it just right if we want our narrative to play out.

“Nearing point three,” Ryan says through the headphones from the pilot’s seat. “Five seconds.”

I squint, taking aim. The world stops. Noise disappears. I don’t move. I don’t breathe. My heartbeat slows to a crawl.

The car comes into view, the candidate’s hair glinting in the sun like a beacon. The crowd cheers and waves. The candidate’s wife blows kisses. The brass band plays.

During the lull between heartbeats, I pull the trigger. His head slams forward, then back, and the car screeches to a halt. Secret Service agents swarm around it, and then the scene disappears from view when Ryan banks a hard right, getting us out of the vicinity.

Exhilaration slams into me, and I let out a whoop, a wide grin transforming my face. Ryan chuckles, flying us away from Des Moines and heads toward Illinois. I pack up my rifle before settling back in the seat, riding the high of the kill as we head back home.

Maquoketa, Idaho

Wednesday 1:11 p.m.

Mission accomplished. We’ll land in Chicago in about an hour.

A minute ticks by, then two. No answer. I smirk. Maybe they’re making that home video I joked about. Ryan and I shoot the shit for a while, but as time passes, doubt creeps in.

Text me back when you finish fucking.

When another ten minutes pass without an answer, doubt turns to worry. Why aren’t they responding?

Eric? Tessa? Answer me. Now.

I swear to God, if you don’t reply, I’m going to turn your asses so red you won’t be able to sit down for a week.

Heeelllooooo

Goddammit. Where are you?

“What’s wrong?” Ryan asks.

“I can’t get Eric or Tessa to answer,” I reply, my hands trembling. Eric never takes this long to reply to me. He knows I worry and wouldn’t leave me hanging, even if he was in the middle of eating our girl out.

My throat tightens as I click on his contact, but it rings out. Tessa’s does the same. Something’s wrong. Fuck. I shouldn’t have taken this job, shouldn’t have left them alone. All the way to the airport, I had a bad feeling. Why didn’t I listen to my gut?

My foot taps. I try them again. And again.

Please tell me you’re okay.

Shit—the trackers. Eric and I had them put in years ago in case we ever got separated or something happened to one of us.

And I put one in Tessa the night we kidnapped her from graduation.

I sit up straighter and open the app, hope surging when it connects and searches for them.

Two red dots light up, both blinking in the same location.

I pull up a satellite map of the area, my brows lowering.

What the fuck are they doing in Wisconsin?

“Ryan, where are we?” I ask while checking the time. 2:07.

“Just about to hit Elgin, why?”

“Change of plans. We’re going to Wisconsin.”