Page 7 of Upon Blooded Lips (Vengeance #1)
TESSA
One Week Later
“ T essa?” Emily says, pushing a wheelchair into the room. Her forced smile puts me on alert, and I push myself back against the uncomfortable bed. “Good news! You’re going home today. Your driver is here to collect you.”
She bustles around, packing my bag for me. I swallow the knot forming in my throat. I hoped my parents might leave me here, but that was wishful thinking. Out of their control means I might talk, and they can’t have that. Allowing me to be here for ten days is a miracle in itself.
Emily puts down the bed rail and takes my hand.
“Are you going to be okay?” she whispers.
I nod, keeping my mouth firmly shut. She’s been a small beacon of kindness, and I won’t risk putting her in danger.
Not that my parents have the habit of offing people or anything.
But my dad and his friends could make it so she can’t work in this state again, and I can’t have her punished for my loose tongue.
It’s how they control you.
I offer Emily a watery smile, and she helps me to my feet.
There’s only a residual amount of pain left from the sprain, although my chest still aches like a bitch.
I settle myself in the wheelchair, only to rear back when Stephen slides into the room.
His presence is like a dark oily stain, one that makes my instincts alarm.
He scoops up my laptop, and I pretend like I don’t notice or that the gesture doesn’t make the alarms clang louder. Any show of distress will only make him suspicious. I can’t let them find the app, even if my friends have been strangely quiet over the past week.
Stephen brushes Emily away and wheels me out of the room backward. I give Emily a little wave, and mouth, Thank you before Stephen whips the chair forward and I can no longer see her.
I vaguely register the sunlight-filled hallways and beeping machines as he pushes me down one corridor after the next, anxiousness taking a firm grip with each passing foot. I don’t want to go back to the house that’s been my prison for so long. I don’t want to see my parents.
Stephen says nothing, his silence almost more ominous than if he’d spoken.
Why did those assholes have to beat me up just because I wasn’t interested in fucking them?
I don’t like feeling powerless and weak.
Knowing I can’t even try to make a break for it when we reach the parking lot due to my injuries adds to the helplessness.
You wouldn’t get far anyway, not with the holstered gun on his right hip.
Well, fuck.
Stephen wheels me out of the hospital entrance, and I squint against the sun. My mouth dries when he stops next to his black SUV, every instinct inside me screaming for me to run. He grips my upper arm and hauls me out of the chair, my teeth gritting against the cry trapped in my throat.
“Don’t fucking try anything, Tessa,” he says, his face transforming into a sneer. “Your parents are waiting for you, and—” The roar of a motorcycle cuts off his words. He throws me against the car and spins toward the sound, ignoring my grunt of pain.
A large man, dressed in leathers and wearing a helmet, races past on a Harley. He pays us no attention, and Stephen’s shoulders relax. He yanks me away from the door, opens it, and pushes me inside, slamming it behind me.
He jogs back to the entrance to return the wheelchair. I try the handle, panic spearing through me when I realize he’s engaged the child locks. You’re a fucking moron , Presley’s insidious voice whispers. Did you think you could get away?
The rumble of the motorcycle vibrates through the SUV, and I pop my head between the front seats, freezing when it comes into view.
It glides slowly past, sunlight glinting off the visor when he turns his head in my direction.
I duck down, my breath catching, even though I doubt he can see me through the tinted windows.
He revs the engine and roars away, Stephen chasing after him with a shout. What the fuck is going on?
Stephen races back to the car and unlocks the driver’s side door before throwing himself in. “Buckle up,” he says, and I quickly do as I’m told.
“Who is that?”
“I don’t know,” Stephen growls back. He wraps his arm around the passenger seat and backs the SUV out of its space before turning right and speeding past the rows of parked cars. The motorcycle passes again, almost like it’s taunting us.
“Motherfucker!”
The SUV leaps forward, and the bike falls in behind us, following us out of the hospital grounds and onto Acacia Avenue. I peer over the seat, watching as it keeps pace with us through downtown Willowmen. Could it be Pal1 or 2? Maybe they aren’t ignoring me after all.
As if anyone would come for you , Presley hisses, but I shut it down. One of these days, I’m going to silence that voice forever.
Painfully, I hope.
The corner of my mouth kicks up. I can always count on Mirror Girl to add torture to a conversation.
Stephen turns left, the SUV skidding around the corner. He pulls up to the electronic gate protecting the Thousand Oaks gated community. My parents couldn’t live among the commoners, after all. He punches in the code, and the gate slides open, far too slowly for his tastes.
Our stalker drives past us, continuing on his way, and my shoulders drop. See? You’re not worth saving.
The tree-lined cobblestone streets pass by, each house bigger and grander than the last. I take no notice, too caught up in dread.
We turn into our driveway, and my body turns to stone.
It’s less than three weeks until my graduation and birthday, and I have the ominous feeling this will be the last time I leave the house until then.