Page 61 of Upon Blooded Lips (Vengeance #1)

MIRROR GIRL

W e’ve transformed the kill room into a series of rooms and tunnels, each with one-way windows for us to watch David’s progress. It’s essentially a self-inflicted torture chamber, but he doesn’t know that. Not yet, anyway.

Nate and Eric haul David off the operating table, and I double over, bursting into laughter.

“I can’t, I can’t,” I say between gasping breaths.

He glares at me, his mouth unable to close around the dick protruding from it.

It flops around when the boys force him forward, which only makes me laugh harder.

Not to mention the blackened stump above his shriveled-up testicles. They bob up and down like two little sad buoys lost without an anchor, and I lose it again, unable to control ourself.

Please try , Tessa says. We’ve waited long enough for this.

“Okay, I’m sorry. I’m done.” I swipe our tears away and clear our throat. “We’re going to give you the chance you never gave us, Uncle David. The chance to win your freedom.” His head pops up, a flicker of hope igniting in his eyes. “But first, you have to play our game.”

His shoulders drop, and I cut back a smile.

“It’s simple, really. Just make it out of our little obstacle course within thirty minutes. If you do, you’ll come out at a stairway leading to the exit. You’ll be free to go, maybe get yourself checked into the hospital before you die from urosepsis.”

“An’ if ah don’?”

I shrug. “Then we play another game, one you won’t enjoy. I suggest you don’t find out. Eric?”

Eric pulls out his phone and works his magic. The lights dim, and the clock over the entrance clicks on, 30:00 appearing on the screen. Tiny lights lining both sides of the tunnel start to glow, lighting a path.

Nate forces David to the floor, and I grab a leather horse crop beside the entrance, swatting his ass with it.

He yelps, his dick-tongue waving like a dog’s.

I chuckle and do it again. “Crawl, little piggy. You’re wasting time.

” He snarls at me but moves forward, wincing at the hard concrete floor beneath him.

When he enters the tunnel, a barred grate lowers, blocking his escape.

Through the windows, we watch his progress, slow at first, like he’s waiting for something to jump out at him.

As he continues, he speeds up, his confidence growing…

until he reaches the bars blocking the entrance into the first room.

Eric switches on the lone bulb hanging from the ceiling, and David jerks back, blinking in the sudden light after being in the dark tunnel.

“Here,” Nate says, handing me a tablet. “It’s recording so you can rewatch it whenever you want.”

I take it from him with trembling hands, clutching the precious gift to our chest before peering down at it. Eric must have set up cameras throughout the maze of rooms, allowing us to see his every facial expression. It’s the best present ever.

“Thank you,” I breathe, our heart doing a funny leap in our chest.

Eric grins before turning back to the window, where David’s just spotted the keys on the other side of the bars.

I bite our lip, waiting. He reaches through before ripping his arm back with a howl.

“’Ucking bish!” he shouts, waving his bleeding arm in the air, caused by the tiny needles we glued on the bars.

David sits back on his haunches, cradling his arm while glaring at the keys like they’re his mortal enemy. If he hadn’t pissed his clothes, he could have kept his shirt and used it to wrap his arm with. Oh, well. Boo-fucking-hoo.

He glances at the clock above the doorway. 26:18. With a scream, he shoves his arm through, grabs the keys, and yanks them back. Misery and pain lines his face, but it’s not enough. It will never be enough.

He fumbles with the keys, the blood dripping down his arm coating his hands and making him clumsy.

He gives a frustrated grunt when the first two keys don’t fit the lock.

They drop to the ground with a clank, and he slaps the tunnel wall like a frustrated toddler.

24:22. He scoops them up and tries again, and this time, the door swings open, letting him into a room big enough to stand up in.

He spins around, searching, confusion switching to fury when he can’t find the exit.

“Uu twick me!” He pounds on the walls, leaving behind bloody prints. “’Et me oot!”

Nate chuckles and shakes his head. “How the fuck did this moron evade Interpol and the FBI for as long as he did?”

Eric bumps shoulders with me. “Should we give him a clue?”

“Ugh. Fine.”

He switches the light off, bathing David in shadows as one wall panel glows with luminescent paint.

X marks the spot. He leaps across the room and pounds on it, and it slides open.

Without looking, he throws himself into the pitch-black room beyond and promptly trips over the cord stretched across the doorway, landing in a pile of shattered glass.

Our face aches with how hard I’m smiling, his pain-filled cries echoing through the room.

Small arrows light up, pointing to the exit, and he shouts curses before standing and limping toward it, glass crunching underneath with each step.

Shards litter his legs, arms, hands, and torso, turning him into a human porcupine.

“Gonna ’ucking ’ill uu,” he growls. 15:19.

This time, he’s more careful when he enters the following room, his gaze wild as it swings around, checking for the next trap.

It’s empty except for a folding chair, which he sits on while yanking the glass from his skin.

He hisses with each one, painful jagged breaths that fill us with joy.

Once he’s removed them all, he hangs his head in his hands, his shoulders trembling.

Poor baby.

Eric makes the time flash, drawing David’s attention.

10:34. He mutters something along the lines of wanting to dismember us before dropping to his knees and crawling into another tunnel.

Eric hums the Indiana Jones theme song when arrows shoot out of the wall, missing David by inches.

He loses precious time working out that a new batch shoots out every fifteen seconds before finally scurrying through and into the second to last room.

A second clock lights up, this one with twenty seconds on it.

We allow him enough time to notice the wall of keys and where the exit is before sounding a horn.

The countdown begins, and David runs his good hand through his hair before scooping up several keys and trying them in the door.

The time runs out, and a siren blasts before the ceiling drops six inches.

A minute deducts from the overall time left, and David freezes when he realizes.

His screech of rage makes a smile flitter across our lips, and I rock back and forth, watching him lose his mind when key after key fails. Every twenty seconds, the ceiling lowers, and another minute deducts from the clock. 2:41.

“’Essa!” he shouts, sweat dripping down his face and back.

He crawls toward the door with a fistful of keys.

The ceiling’s too low for him to stand now, and he fumbles with the lock.

The horn blares, and David presses himself against the chilly concrete floor, his eyes squeezed tight when the panel kisses his bare ass. “Mm sowwy! ’Essa!”

“Cut the lights, please, Eric.” The room goes dark, and David whimpers, a pathetic little sound that makes our eye tic. “What did you say? I couldn’t hear you,” I singsong through the little microphone next to the window.

“Mm sowwy. Mm sowwy. Pease, ’Essa.”

I glance at the clock. Thirty-nine seconds left. Thirty-eight. Thirty-seven. “You don’t deserve mercy,” I reply, our voice cold as ice. “But I’m not done with you just yet.”

Thirty-two. Thirty-one. Thirty.

The ceiling inches upward with a clunking metallic sound.

Twenty-five. Twenty-four. Twenty-three.

The lights come back on, and David blinks up at the clock, his face contorting with fear. He scrambles to his knees and scurries over to the wall, grabbing another handful of keys and hurrying back to the door.

Fifteen. Fourteen. Thirteen. Twelve.

“’Et me oot!” He pounds against the door when another key fails, tears dripping down his cheeks.

Tessa sighs with contentment. There it is. That’s what I needed.

Oh, we’re owed a hell of a lot more than that.

Obviously. But I wanted to see him cry.

Four. Three. Two.

“No!” David shouts, dropping to his knees with his hands over his head, prepared for the ceiling to drop. Instead, a red light flashes and the door unlocks, opening a couple of inches in invitation.

“It’s showtime,” Nate says, handing me Barbie.

I give her a little twirl, our blood igniting as it whistles through the air. Nate and Eric each grab a Nerf bat. They get to play, but David’s mine.

I click the button on the microphone and borrow Tessa’s phrase. “Run, little piggy. Run!”

David shoves himself through the doorway, which latches behind him.

Nate and Eric lead the way to a hidden door, and after Eric plunges the final room into darkness, activates the sound-operated lights, and turns on a death metal playlist, we slip inside.

Fans whirling above allow hanging curtains of black fabric to sway in the breeze, offering a multitude of hiding places.

The three of us split up, gliding through the shadows, hunting down our prey.

The music roars through the room, the flashing lights in a rainbow of colors creating pockets of light and shadow as they flicker along to the beat.

Tessa may have pondered my existence over the years, wondering if she’s so broken that she made me up.

Like I’m just a fragment of her imagination or a way to cope.

Maybe I am. Who’s to say? One day I was nothing, the next I was.

But right now, stalking our childhood nightmare, the bat in our hand like an extension of ourself, I’ve never felt more alive. More real. It’s funny how that happens in the face of your mortality.

I spot David’s bare ass sticking out from behind a curtain and fill our lungs with air before swinging the bat around in a near perfect circle.

David cries out when the razor blades catch on this thigh, opening his flesh.

A beautiful arc of blood lifts into the air, decorating the fabric and ground with his life force.

I skip away, our heart hammering like war drums, laughter spilling from our lips. I duck between the panels, allowing the boys some time to play, even though their soft bats won’t do anything besides piss David off and leave a few bruises. They deserve it after everything they’ve given us.

Let them teach him about fear. About what it feels like to be prey.

How it feels to be helpless.

Alone.

Our heart beats in time with the music as I dance around the room, spinning through the cloth panels that billow around me like seaweed caught in the tides.

I lose ourself in the utter joy of the moment, in the way our blood sings through our veins, in the very realness of life I was denied until the very end.

But that’s okay. This brief moment is everything I could have wanted. I always knew this time would come. That one day she’d be safe and loved. Cherished. Cared for.

The boys are good for her. They’re strong, vicious in their protection of her, and love her with a single-mindedness that borders on obsession. The three of them, damaged as they are, fit together beautifully, like their souls were torn apart long ago and are now brought together as one.

I can trust her with them.

As I twirl Barbie over our head, tears stream down our face. Deep down, Tessa knows it’s time. I’m not ready , she whispers, her voice unsteady. Please don’t leave me. I don’t know how to be strong without you.

You’re already stronger than you can imagine.

Please.

Nate slides out of the shadows and takes our hand, spinning us around. Laughter bubbles out of me, joy and sadness and love swirling around inside, the feelings too big to contain.

Not yet.

Not yet , I agree.

Nate leads us in a one-handed waltz, turning me around the room until we come across David hanging from a rope. There’s nothing much left behind his eyes. No hatred, no fear, just a quiet resignation. He doesn’t beg or plead, doesn’t cry or scream.

We draw our arm back and swing, and Barbie does exactly what she was created to do—rips into the flesh of the man who tried his very hardest to destroy us, to tear our soul to shreds and turn us into his plaything.

He fucking failed.

See us, Uncle David. See us here, alive, thriving, loved. There’s no one left to remember you. No one to mourn you. No one to care. We’ll scatter your ashes to the winds, and while you’re burning in hell, we’ll be free.

We swing again, and then once more, spilling his intestines onto the floor. Opening up his back and exposing his spine. Ripping through the tendons in his arms. And when we’re done, and the monster is vanquished, we do what we always wanted—dance in his blood.

We feast our eyes on the gory corpse before us, bloodstained and raw, with tear tracks lining our cheeks. It’s done. They’re gone. Tessa’s safe, and my brief moment in the sun is over.

No, no, no. Please. I’m still not ready. Don’t leave me.

We walk into the apartment, stopping in front of the mirror. Our hands touch the glass, our eyes searching each other’s as Tessa comes to the fore. “Someday, we’ll get out of here, and they’ll all die.” We press our lips to the cool surface, cementing a vow made so long ago.

A promise made, a promise kept.

I love you.

I love you too. Always.