The Merciless (The Merciless #1)(25)

For a second it’s easy to forget the real reason we’re here and that Brooklyn is tied up in the corner. Then Riley squeezes me, and her embrace is just tight enough that I can’t tell whether it’s meant to be comforting—or a warning. When she pulls away she doesn’t look at me again. Instead she turns to Brooklyn, her eyes narrowed.

“We’ve all humbled ourselves before God,” she says, taking a few steps forward. She kneels on the floor again, this time so close that her knees press against Brooklyn’s frayed jeans.

“What about you?” Riley grabs the duct tape covering Brooklyn’s mouth and tears it away. Brooklyn gasps, and her head lolls down to her chest. I cringe at the angry red stripe left across her face.

Riley grabs Brooklyn’s chin, forcing her to meet her eyes. Some of Brooklyn’s smudged eyeliner comes off on Riley’s fingers. She takes a ragged, raspy breath that sounds so painful my entire chest aches.

“Are you ready to confess?” Riley asks.

For a long moment Brooklyn won’t lift her eyes from the floor. She blinks rapidly, like she’s fighting back tears. This is it, I realize. This is all Riley wanted. Maybe she isn’t going to perform the exorcism at all—she just wants Brooklyn to admit what she did.

Finally, Brooklyn looks up at Riley. Lips trembling, she opens her mouth.

And spits in Riley’s face.

“Go to hell,” she says.





CHAPTER NINE


Riley wipes Brooklyn’s spit from her cheek with the back of her hand. I expect her face to twist in fury, but she just stares ahead with glassy eyes, her mouth a thin, hard line. I don’t see any sign of the girl I thought I knew—this Riley seems to be missing some key ingredient to make her human. She drinks from the wine bottle, then runs her tongue over her lips.

“How does it feel, bitch?” Brooklyn throws herself against her ropes, making the pillar she’s tied to groan. She spits again, this time spraying Riley’s foot. “I should baptize you in the name of Satan.”

Riley cocks her head to the side, reminding me of a hawk eyeing a mouse. “Well then. We have our work cut out for us. Alexis, what’s next?”

“We must pray for Brooklyn’s soul. I have the passage,” Alexis says. I chew on the inside of my cheek as she slips a faded sheet of paper from her Bible’s pages. Even now, in the middle of all this, she looks flawless in a white cardigan covered in silver hearts and jean shorts. I take that as a good sign. She wouldn’t have dressed nicely if she thought things were going to get violent.

“Then I’ll draw the demon forth.” Riley picks up the bottle of holy water.

“Sofia, I need you.” Riley holds her free hand out to me. When I don’t immediately take it, she grabs my hand and weaves her fingers through mine, pulling me closer. “We can face the demon together. Your strength will be my strength.”

I try to meet Riley’s eyes, looking for some flicker of the Riley I like, the Riley I thought was my friend. Because of the position of the lamp, her eyes are in shadow and it’s her smile that’s illuminated. It twists into a smirk.

“Have some faith,” she says to me. She grabs Grace’s hand and brings her closer into the circle.

Alexis begins to read. “We exorcise you, impure one, you satanic power.” Her clear, steady voice fills the cold corners of the basement. I want to pull my hand away from Riley’s, but when I move, she squeezes tighter.

“Be humble under the powerful hand of God,” Alexis says. I shift my attention back to her, wondering where she found the ridiculous passage she’s reading. It sounds like something from a bad horror movie.

Alexis’s voice grows louder. “Tremble and flee!” She glances up from the Bible and studies Brooklyn’s face, like she’s expecting her to start writhing on the floor or for smoke to pour out of her mouth.

But Brooklyn just lifts an eyebrow. “Did you find that on Wikipedia?” she asks, snickering.

“Yeah, where did you get that, Lexie?” Grace asks, frowning.

“It’s the official prayer for a ritual exorcism,” Alexis says.

Brooklyn laughs even harder. “I don’t know why I was worried,” she says. “Clearly you all are pros.”

“Stop it,” Riley snaps. “It doesn’t matter where the passage came from. What we say isn’t as important as what we believe.”

Riley tips the bottle of holy water over Brooklyn’s head. The water dribbles from the bottle, and Brooklyn flinches when it hits her, then blinks and stares at Riley.

She tilts her head so the remaining water pours over her face. She shakes her hair out, like a dog.

“Is this so I’ll be ready for the wet T-shirt portion of the night?” she asks. Riley tightens her grip on the bottle, her smile hardening.

“She’s making fun of us,” Riley says. “Sof, hand me the salt.”

I don’t move. Riley glares at me.

“The sooner you help, the sooner all this can be over.”

“Fine.” I pull my fingers from Riley’s grip. Brooklyn’s right. Riley’s not a professional—she’s just a pissed-off teenage girl. Locking us in here was messed up, but this is just a hazing ritual, something to show Brooklyn who the alpha bitch is. I grab the jar of salt from the floor, thrusting it into Riley’s hands. Most girls would just start a burn book.