Page 9 of Upon Blooded Lips (Vengeance #1)

TESSA

P resley’s clacking heels heading toward my room send my pulse racing. I bury my Kindle under my covers and spring out of bed, backing myself into the narrow corner between the window and bathroom doorway.

The door slams open and ricochets off the wall, leaving an indent from the doorknob in the plaster. Presley stomps toward me, her face twisted into an ugly sneer.

It’s too bad her face can’t freeze like that.

She grabs my chin in a painful grip and forces me to look at her. How could I have missed our lack of similarity? I have Robert’s brown and gold eyes, while hers are green. We both have blonde hair, but hers is platinum while mine is honey gold. She’s tall and willowy while I’m shorter and curvier.

“What the fuck did you do?”

“What do you mean? I haven’t done anything.”

She leans closer, her nose a hairsbreadth from mine. “Why the fuck are the cops in the living room demanding to speak to you?”

“How should I know? I haven’t left the house since I came home yesterday.”

Her eyes narrow while searching mine. “Did you say something to someone at the hospital?”

My head whips back and forth. “N-no. I wouldn’t do that.”

She wraps her hand around my upper arm and drags me out of the room. Presley pushes me into the living room before backing out and slamming the French doors shut behind her. I freeze when Officers Grange and Kendrick spin to face me. Are they the only fucking cops in this town?

Torture. Slow, painful, screaming torture. Going to make them bleed.

“Can I help you, officers?” I ask, proud of my unwavering voice. I wasn’t so strong the last time they were here, after Robert attacked me for talking back. He rarely lashes out but won’t hesitate to if he doesn’t like your tone.

I had crawled to the phone, trembling from pain and fear, and called 911. These two assholes showed up, shook hands with my dad, and told me I needed to understand the difference between discipline and abuse—all while I stood before them bloody and bruised.

I’ve struggled to trust authority figures since.

Officer Kendrick sticks his thumbs in his belt loops, calling attention to the firearm holstered at his side.

How fast do you think we could grab it? We could light them up, take them and the parentals out before they even know what’s happening.

Do you know what happens to cop killers? They don’t make it to jail, that’s what. Especially in Willowmen. The mayor would have me executed on the spot.

Spoilsport.

“Where were you last night between the hours of six and ten?” Officer Grange asks.

“Here.”

“Can anyone corroborate that?”

“I’m sure my parents or our driver can. Have you asked them?” Why the fuck do I have to do your job for you, you incompetent twit?

Officer Kendrick steps forward, eyes narrowing at my tone. “So you had nothing to do with this?” he spits, scooping up a manilla envelope and tossing pictures down on the coffee table in front of me.

Who the fuck did this? Each picture is funnier than the last, and I bite down on my cheeks to prevent the laughter bubbling up my throat from spilling out. It’s a herculean task any Greek hero would be proud of.

Someone hung Jacob, Michael, Nash, and Oliver from the two basketball hoops in the school gym, wearing only boxers.

They also carved words into each of their foreheads.

Bully for Jacob, Incel for Oliver, Coward for Nash, and Rapist for Michael.

Whip marks mar their once pristine backs, and shallow puddles of blood pool beneath the hoops.

But it’s the daffodils strewn over the gymnasium floor that make my shoulders tense.

“The boys claim someone wearing a mirrored mask attacked them,” Officer Kendrick states.

They should have killed them while they had the chance.

“Are you implying I had something to do with this?”

Officer Grange shifts his weight while Officer Kendrick stares back at me defiantly. “You’re the only person who has a motive. The boys are well-liked and popular,” Officer Grange replies.

Hahahaha.

I purse my lips. “Officer, I don’t mean to sound disrespectful?—”

Yes, you do.

“—but I’m still recovering from the beating they gave me.

I walk with a limp, and my fractured ribs are still healing.

On top of that, I’m five foot seven, and they’re all around six feet tall and athletes.

Are you suggesting that I somehow, in my weakened state, snuck out of my house, stole my parents’ car, drove to their houses, picked them all up, took them to school, and then tortured and hung them? ”

Officer Grange seems to find the wallpaper particularly interesting while Kendrick frowns like I just shit on his shoes. How the fuck did they pass the police academy?

Nepotism.

Officer Kendrick snatches up the photos and stuffs them back in the envelope before turning on his heel. Grange follows him like a lost puppy but stops and turns at the doorway.

“I don’t suppose you have any idea who would do this? A boyfriend, maybe? A relative?”

I shake my head. There’s no point telling them about the daffodils.

They’ve appeared over the years for as long as I can remember—in my desk and locker, tied to the security gates at the entrance to Thousand Oaks, dried in my books.

I even once found a little vase full of them sitting on my usual table at Bean My Guest, a combination bookstore and coffee shop.

It’s my favorite place, a little oasis of peace, a hideaway from the rest of the world.

When my parents actually allow me to go, that is.

I’ve never known who leaves them or why. Daffodils are a symbol of faith and protection. Could they be from Pal1 and 2? Or someone else?

Presley shows the officers out before turning to me. “I will not allow you to tarnish our family’s good name. If I find out you had anything to do with this, you’ll regret being born.”

Trust me, I already do.

A week after Officers Tweedle Dumb and Dumber left, I find myself sitting at the dining table picking at the Caesar salad Presley knows I hate while listening to them outlining the plans for my graduation and wedding to Rafe Martinelli.

“I won’t do it,” I say, my fist wrapping around my knife, wishing I could stab them in the eye with it.

Robert’s jaw tics, and he lays down his fork. “Excuse me?” he asks. He rarely shouts; he’s at his most dangerous when he’s quiet.

“I’m not a fucking toy. You don’t own me. You can’t just sell me off like I’m a possession!”

Presley lifts her napkin and dabs at the corners of her mouth. “I suggest you lower your voice. We’re respectful in this house.”

Laughter drips from my lips. “Respectful? Respectful? Fuck you, Presley. You’ve never once treated me with respect. You’re a lying, manipulative, money hungry, abusive piece of shit.”

Robert leaps to his feet with a roar. “You will not speak to your mother like that. Do you hear me?”

“But she’s not my mother now, is she? My real mother’s dead. Presley’s an impostor, a fake, a nobody from a nobody family that married you for your money.”

Presley’s face pales. Her fingers tighten around the stem of her wineglass until it shatters. “You’re an ungrateful cunt. After everything I’ve done for you?—”

“What have you done for me? Beaten me? Hit me? Kicked me? Starved me? Allowed David to rape me? And now you want to sell me off?” I clap, giving her the applause she’s always so desperate for.

“Wow. Mother of the year award goes to you. I wonder what all your society friends would say if they knew.”

Run.

Robert grabs his glass and throws it at me.

I duck and race through the kitchen and into the den.

My laptop sits on the desktop, and I scoop it up before throwing myself out the back door.

Presley’s scream follows me, and I pick up my pace, my feet carrying me over the lawn toward the far side of the property.

Hurry.

Panic sends my heart soaring, my vision narrowing on the ivy-covered wall, and I pray no one ever found the human-sized hole I discovered when I was ten.

A sharp retort makes me scream, and I duck my head when a bullet whizzes past me. What the fuck? I know they hate me, but are they really going to kill me because I don’t want to get married?

“Tessa! Stop. I will shoot you if you don’t,” Stephen calls out, and my feet stutter to a stop. Tears leak from my eyes, but I dash them away, not wanting him to see.

I spin around, clutching my laptop to my chest as Stephen advances with his gun drawn. “Just let me go,” I whisper, and he chuckles, shaking his head like I’m an errant child.

I haven’t been a child since I was six.

He tucks the gun into his holster and wrestles the computer from me before grabbing my arm and dragging me back toward the house. Each step sends me spiraling into despair, forcing me to come to terms with the fact I’m never escaping this life, not unless I take myself out of it.

At least then, no one could hurt me anymore.

Stephen drags me inside and throws me down on the couch in the den. He hands the laptop to Robert, who refuses to look at me. He’s a fucking coward. I hate you. I hate you so fucking much.

Stay strong.

“Search her room,” Presley says. “Remove any electronics and anything she can use to hurt herself with.”

Stephen mumbles an agreement and leaves to do her bidding.

Presley rubs Robert’s upper arm. “We can’t renege on this marriage, Robert.

It’s too important. Tessa will remain in her bedroom, under guard, until the wedding.

Since she can’t act like an adult.” She looks down her nose at me, a sly smile playing on her lips.

I turn my head away and ball my fists, tamping down the urge to beat her to death with my bare hands. I stew in my thoughts until Stephen comes back with a large box and dumps it on the floor.

Presley cackles and kicks it out of the way before grabbing my wrist and hauling me off the couch.

She marches me down the hall, and my eyes widen when I see the padlock attached to it.

She pushes me in and slams the door in my face.

The last bit of hope inside me dies when the lock clicks into place.