The Merciless (The Merciless #1)(32)

Despite myself, I’m curious. “So what happened next?”

“Nothing. That was the night Mr. Willis had his accident.”

“Accident . . .” I glance back down at the black-and-white photograph on the clipping. Something on Mr. Willis’s hand catches my eye: a thick, gold wedding ring. I move my eyes back over the obituary, and once again I stop at the last line in the first paragraph: He leaves behind wife, Julianna Willis . . .

CARLTON & JULIANNA 1979.

“His ring,” I say, pointing at the picture. “Brooklyn . . .”

“Brooklyn wears it around her neck,” Riley finishes for me. She brushes a strand of hair off her forehead. “Like a trophy.”

I shake my head. This is insane. “But why?”

“Because she’s the one who killed him,” Riley said. “Because she’s evil. That’s why we have to stop her.”

? ? ?

I consider Riley’s story as we make our way back down the stairs. First there was the skinned cat beneath the bleachers, and now a teacher. Could Riley be spreading more lies? Or is Brooklyn actually dangerous?

Brooklyn’s eyes are closed when we get down to the basement, but they flicker open at the sound of our footsteps.

“Back for more?” she asks.

Riley’s expression hardens. She lifts a hand to the bandages on her cheek. “Don’t we have any more wine?” she says.

Grace pulls a new bottle out of the backpack and hands it to her. I expect Riley to smash it against the wall and attack Brooklyn with the broken glass. But she just twists off the screw top and drinks, watching Brooklyn over the mouth of the bottle.

The cell phone in her back pocket vibrates, and Riley lowers the bottle of wine. All at once it’s like the air in the basement thickens. Riley pulls out the phone and taps the screen. She shifts her eyes up to Brooklyn.

“It’s from Josh,” she says. “He wrote . . .” Riley hesitates, and every muscle in her body tenses. “Need some company?”

Any hope I had that this might be over vanishes. Riley tosses Brooklyn’s cell phone, and it skitters across the floor. She drops to her knees, straddling Brooklyn’s bound legs.

“Whore,” she spits, and whips a hand across Brooklyn’s face. Brooklyn’s head smacks against the wooden pillar behind her. I cringe and look away, my gaze falling on the butcher knife half wedged beneath the backpack at Grace’s feet. No one else seems to remember that it’s there.

“Admit it!” Riley screams. I shift my feet to the left, edging slowly closer to the knife.

“Fine!” Brooklyn shouts. She spits blood onto the concrete and stretches out her jaw. “You want me to admit my f*cking sins? I did it, okay? I slept with your boyfriend. And you know what the best part is? We’d come here, to this house, and we’d drink your wine, and he’d screw me on your sleeping bag.”

Riley’s face is empty, expressionless, like she didn’t hear a word of Brooklyn’s confession. Without even blinking, she slaps her again. I drop to a crouch next to the knife and slide it out from beneath the backpack. Riley stands and starts to pace.

“Give me that,” she says, stopping directly in front of me. Before I can say a word, Riley rips the butcher knife from my hand.

“Riley.” I stand, no longer thinking about what’s smart or what will convince Riley I’m on her side. If Josh is what sent Riley off the rails in the first place, who knows what she’ll do now. I reach for the knife, but Riley holds it close to her side possessively. “Come on. She admitted her sin, there’s nothing left for us to do.”

Riley shakes her head. “That wasn’t her only sin.” She crouches near Brooklyn again, this time grabbing her hand. “Hand me the Bible, Lexie,” she says.

Alexis doesn’t answer her. Her glassy eyes are fixed on the far wall.

“Lexie!” Riley yells, and Alexis flinches. “Hand me the Bible.”

Alexis takes the Bible out of the backpack and passes it to Riley. “Dirty sinner,” she mutters as Riley slides the Bible beneath Brooklyn’s hand, then spreads her fingers out flat on its cover.

Brooklyn lifts her face. Black eyeliner seeps into the corners of her eyes and smudges around her nose. Her mouth is rimmed in blood. She tries to pull her hand away, but Riley holds it tight, pressing Brooklyn’s fingers down flat with her palm. She positions the knife over the tip of Brooklyn’s pinkie.

“You f*cking psycho!” Brooklyn screams. She kicks and squirms, fighting against the ropes binding her in place. “Just let me go!”

“Guys, help me hold her down,” Riley says. Alexis immediately moves behind Brooklyn and grabs her shoulders so she can’t throw herself against the ropes anymore. Grace hesitates, then crouches beside Riley and grabs Brooklyn’s wrist.

Riley moves both hands to the knife.

“Okay, okay!” Brooklyn shouts, fear slurring her words. “I killed the cat beneath the bleachers. It was wandering around my apartment complex, so I drowned it in my bathtub. Then I skinned it with this pocketknife I stole from a kid at school. Is that what you want to hear?”

“I don’t care what depraved thing you did with that cat.” Riley rocks the knife over Brooklyn’s finger and Brooklyn cringes from the sting of the blade. “Tell me about Mr. Willis.”