The Merciless (The Merciless #1)(21)

“We’re going to the basement,” Riley says, opening a door I thought was a closet. I peer down the stairs, but I can’t see past the concrete wall below. The rest of the basement is dark.

“What’s down there?”

“A surprise,” Riley says. The first step creaks beneath her bare foot. She takes me by the arm. “Don’t be scared.”

I start down the stairs with her, focused on placing one foot in front of the other. Cold air creeps in through the concrete walls and floor, holding a damp scent of dust and something I can’t place. I wrinkle my nose as we make our way down. It smells metallic, like pennies.

There’s a muffled whimper deep in the basement, like someone crying into a pillow. I freeze on the bottom step.

“Riley . . .” I still can’t see past the concrete wall, and I suddenly want to keep it that way. But Riley tugs on my arm, her fingernails pricking the skin on my wrist. My feet move forward on their own.

“It’s okay, Sof,” she says, and I let her lead me around the corner.

The blue oil lamp from upstairs sits on a table near the far wall, casting a wedge of flickering light over the concrete. Alexis crouches over the lamp, messing with a lever on the side. There’s a flicker of movement, like an arm reaching out of the shadows behind her. I jerk my head around to stare, praying it was just a trick of the light.

The lamp’s tiny flame dances higher, illuminating Brooklyn’s crumpled body. Duct tape winds around her mouth and cheeks, plastering her short, sweaty hair to her head. She’s tied to a wooden pillar in the middle of the room, her arms pressed against her sides, and her legs trapped beneath her.

Fear rises in my chest, but I push it back down. This is a joke. They must’ve set it up to mess with me. I laugh nervously, but then Brooklyn raises her head and shakes the matted hair from her eyes. Her gaze shifts to mine, and it’s like I’ve been plunged in cold water. The fear in Brooklyn’s eyes is real.

“Riley.” My voice is hoarse, a whisper. “What did you do?”

“What did I do?” Riley’s voice hits the concrete like a slap. Brooklyn jerks at the sound, but her red eyes stay fixed on me. “We talked about this, Sofia.” Riley crosses the room to Alexis and picks up a black backpack. She reaches inside and pulls out a butcher knife. Brooklyn breathes in through her nose with a shaky sob, and I throw a hand over my mouth.

“Shit! Riley, why do you have that?”

“I’m going to get the evil out of her.” Riley turns the knife to catch the glare of the lamp. I glance back at Brooklyn. The ropes rubbed the skin around her wrists raw, and her hair’s drenched with sweat, but otherwise she’s unhurt. She mostly just looks scared. I exhale. There’s still time to fix this.

“Riley, give me the knife,” I say, holding out my hand. The blade distorts my reflection, making my forehead too long, my eyes beady pricks of black. I look like a monster.

“Don’t be silly, Sofia.” Riley pulls the knife to her side and wraps her fingers around it possessively. “We talked about this. You said we’re in this together.”

Riley’s delusional. We talked about helping her, not kidnapping her. Brooklyn hasn’t taken her eyes off the knife. Her face twists in fear, crinkling the edges of the duct tape. I start to cross the basement, but Alexis steps in front of me, blocking my way.

“Let me through,” I demand. Alexis crosses her arms over her chest and glances at Riley over my shoulder. Brooklyn shifts on the concrete behind her. The ropes binding her wrists tighten with a groan as she moves. “Alexis, we have to untie her!”

“This is for her own good, Sofia.” Riley steps up behind me and places a hand on my shoulder to prevent me from moving any closer to Brooklyn. A chill spreads from the tips of my fingers to the small of my back. “Alexis, did you pack everything?” Riley shifts the backpack in her arms, grimacing under its weight.

“I think so.” Alexis watches Riley from beneath the veil of her own pale white-blond hair. I can’t tell if she’s as freaked out as I am, but it’s obvious she’s not going to do anything to stop this.

“What’s in there?” I ask, eyeing the backpack.

“Very important supplies.” Riley unzips the bag and removes jars of water and salt, three bottles of wine, and a heavy, leather-bound Bible. She sets the items on the floor and reaches into the bag again. I expect more knives, but Riley pulls out a wooden cross.

Suddenly something clicks. “This is an exorcism.”

“Lexie taught me how to perform one,” Riley says. She sets the knife down on the floor and picks up the bottle of wine, yanking out the cork.

“We’re going to draw the demon out of Brooklyn,” Alexis explains. “Most priests use holy water or a cross, sometimes blessed salt.”

I decide to skip over the “demon” comment and move to the most obvious flaw in their plan. “But none of us is a priest.”

“We don’t need to be,” Alexis says. “That’s what I was telling Riley. Anyone can perform an exorcism as long as they’re filled with the Holy Spirit. And the more true believers you have with you the stronger you are. With you and Grace, we have four.”

“Don’t be scared, Sof,” Riley says, taking a drink of wine. “This’ll be fun.”