The Merciless (The Merciless #1)(16)
“I really do. Did she tell you she’s having a party tomorrow?”
“She didn’t mention it.”
“Well, I heard some kids talking about it at school. It’s supposed to be intense. You should go.”
I run my tongue over my lips, which are dry now from the cold creeping over the yard. The last party I went to was in a house in the woods, next to the train tracks that ran through town. A bunch of football players stood just inside the door, loudly rating every girl who walked past, and every time a train rolled through, the whole house shook and everyone took a shot.
When I don’t answer right away, Riley starts to plead. “Come on, Sofia! There’s a reason I picked you for this. Some people have evil inside them, but that’s what God is for, to fix them when they can’t fix themselves. We can still fix Brooklyn.”
The insects in the yard have gone still, but wind sweeps over the grass and pounds against the windows. I shiver and pull my arms around my chest. Grandmother used to pray for people in her neighborhood when she thought they needed strength. This isn’t any different, I guess. Riley’s just a little more active with her faith. Grams would probably like her.
“Sof? Are you still there?”
“Yeah,” I say. “I’ll do it. Promise.”
? ? ?
I shiver as I make my way to Brooklyn’s for the party the next night. An owl hoots in a nearby tree. I pull my sweatshirt tighter around my shoulders and lower my face. Wind sweeps through the tree branches, rattling them like bones. A man with a sagging gut and pockmarked face winks at me.
“How you doing, cutie?” he mumbles. His breath smells like whiskey and beef jerky. I hurry past him as he stumbles toward a dimly lit bar.
Brooklyn lives on the first floor of a cheap apartment complex. It’s set up to look like a motel. All the apartment doors face an open-air hallway protected only by the cheap, painted aluminum guardrail. Just beyond the edge of the property, I can see the service road that leads to the tattoo parlor.
A sound like a gunshot echoes down the dark alley near her street. I freeze, every muscle in my body tensing to run. Then a car engine sputters on, and an old Buick pulls away from the curb. Not a gunshot—a car backfiring. I exhale and keep moving. The sooner I make it to Brooklyn’s place, the better.
Even if she hadn’t slipped me the address in English lit class, I wouldn’t have trouble finding Brooklyn’s party. The music’s so loud it vibrates through the parking lot, and the apartment door hangs open. Girls in short skirts and pierced, tattooed guys lounge against the wall, drinking from red Solo cups and smoking cigarettes that smell like pine needles. Green paint bubbles up around where they stubbed the butts out on the walls. Either they’re all over twenty-one, or this isn’t the kind of neighborhood that calls the cops for underage drinking.
“Hey, little girl!” someone calls, startling me. I turn just as a large bald guy approaches. He towers above me, and he has to weigh at least two hundred pounds. He wears all black, and a white-and-black skull tattoo covers his face and bald head. It looks like he doesn’t have any skin.
I start to turn back around, hoping he’s not talking to me. He grabs my arm.
“Don’t be like that. I’m talking to you,” he says. Deep black lines shadow his eyes, and tattoos of teeth stretch down over his lips. “I’ve got a question.”
“Shoot,” I say, struggling to keep my voice steady. The man’s lips part, but I can’t tell if he’s smiling at me or grimacing.
“My friends and I are taking a poll.” He nods to a group of people standing by the apartment door. They’re all pierced and tattooed, but next to Skull Guy they look like members of a church group. “If you could choose how you were going to die, would you rather be beaten to death with a shovel or have your face eaten off?”
I swallow, trying to keep my nerves from showing on my face. The guy might be freaky looking, but he just wants to get a reaction out of me. It’s all just part of his game.
“I’d go for the face,” I say, meeting his gaze. “I’d want to look my killer in the eye.”
This time I’m sure Skull Guy smiles at me. The white-and-black cheekbone tattoos stretch across his face when his lips part. “Solid,” he says, bumping my fist.
I nod at a couple more people as I walk past, trying to look like I belong. The music pounds around me, an insistent bomp bomp bomp. Once inside, I push my sweatshirt hood back and glance around the room. It’s smoky and dark. Bodies crowd around me, packed so tightly I can’t move without bumping someone’s arm or back. The floor is sticky, littered with empty beer cans.
I can’t believe I worried this would be anything like my last party. It’s a completely different world. I’ve never heard the music before, and I don’t think any of the people here actually go to our school. A girl with long, white-blond hair and glassy eyes passes a tiny bag of powder to another girl in a leather jacket, then walks away without glancing at her. I weave through the crowd to a table covered in booze and beer. I grab the single can of off-brand soda sitting next to a case of PBR, just so I have something to do with my hands.
A voice rises above the music, startling me. “Sofia!”
I turn and, through the sea of people pushing in on me, spot Charlie waving his hands above his head like he’s signaling planes. If I were a cartoon character, my mouth would drop to the floor and exclamation points would shoot out of my eyes—that’s how excited I am to see him standing there, wearing a worn T-shirt with some faded sports logo on it and a dark gray zip-up sweatshirt. He moves around a crowd of guys to stand in front of me and says something I can’t hear over the noise. I smile so wide the corners of my mouth threaten to split.