The Merciless (The Merciless #1)(33)

Brooklyn shakes her head. “He had an accident. What do you want me to say?”

Riley presses down on the knife. There’s a crunch as the blade slices through skin and nail and digs into the leather cover of the Bible beneath Brooklyn’s fingers. My breath catches in my throat, and I clench my eyes shut so I don’t see the tip of Brooklyn’s pinkie roll off the Bible and land on the floor with a sticky thud.

Brooklyn’s screaming vibrates through the basement and echoes off the walls. When I open my eyes again, Riley has another finger stretched across the Bible. Blood drips onto the floor, leaking from Brooklyn’s bloody pinkie. Riley didn’t cut off that much skin. She slid her knife right below the nail, taking only a millimeter of Brooklyn’s finger at most. Still, I can’t stop staring at the bloody stump she left behind.

I back up until I feel the cold concrete wall behind me. Sweat drenches my entire body. I don’t know what’s worse—the stories Brooklyn’s telling or what Riley’s doing to get her to admit to them.

“Tell me about Mr. Willis,” Riley says again.

“I killed him, too!” Brooklyn yells, struggling to pull her hand away. “I waited for him in the auditorium. I wanted it to look like an accident, so when he got out the ladder and started climbing, I . . . I . . .”

“You pushed him?” Riley finishes for her. Brooklyn presses her lips together and nods.

“Yes. Yes, I pushed him,” Brooklyn screams. “Are you happy now, you psycho?”

I taste sour bile at the back of my throat. I try to swallow, but the sharp, metallic scent of blood and the lingering smoke fill my nostrils. My stomach cramps and restricts, and acid rises in my throat. I drop to my knees and my entire body heaves, splattering vomit onto the concrete.

I look up and Brooklyn catches my eye. She slowly shakes her head and her eyes turn desperate, pained. She’s lying, I realize. She’s just trying to survive. I exhale in relief.

“Yes, actually, I am happy,” Riley says, her lips twisting into a sneer. “Now you just have to be baptized.”





CHAPTER THIRTEEN


I work my fingers through the tangled knots binding Brooklyn to the pillar. She barely moves now, having passed out from blood loss or pain, I’m not sure. The stiff ropes scratch my skin, but they finally come loose and pull apart. We’re getting out of here, I want to tell Brooklyn. The baptism will be easy compared with what she’s already been through.

Brooklyn’s eyelids flicker but stay closed. Grace wraps a wad of toilet paper around the remaining stub of her finger and secures it with a few Band-Aids. I avoid looking at the bloody tissues while she works.

“Make sure to tie up her arms and legs again.” Riley sticks a heavy wooden cross and the remaining salt and holy water into the backpack. “We’re going all the way up to the second floor. Don’t want her to get loose.”

“Isn’t there a bathroom on the first floor?” I ask. Alexis crawls around me, toward Brooklyn’s legs, and starts retying the bindings at her ankles.

“Only the bathrooms on the second floor have bathtubs,” Riley says.

“Why do we need a tub?”

“You’ll see.” Riley’s words chill me, but I say nothing. I tie the ropes at Brooklyn’s wrists, leaving them loose intentionally—just in case. Alexis finishes the knot at Brooklyn’s ankles and starts to giggle.

“What’s so funny?” I ask her. Alexis glances up, but her eyes don’t quite focus on my face.

“It’s like she’s not even real,” she says, poking Brooklyn’s limp leg. “She’s like a doll.”

I try not to think too hard about what she means. Riley sets the backpack down next to the wall and grabs Brooklyn’s arms while Alexis and Grace take her legs. Even with the three of them lifting together, they’re only able to get her a few feet off the ground. They crouch as they walk, moving slowly toward the staircase. Alexis’s breathing grows heavier with every move, and Grace already looks like she might pass out. Sweat lines her forehead, and a few fuzzy strands of hair come loose from her ponytail. They stick out of her head at odd angles.

“Sof, can you blow out the candles?” Riley asks, groaning as she shifts Brooklyn’s weight. One of her arms is looped around Brooklyn’s torso, while Grace now holds her bound arms and shoulders. Riley’s face tightens every time she takes a step back. “And grab the backpack?”

“Okay.” I quickly blow out the candles on the far side of the basement and move to grab the backpack still leaning against the wall. I kneel next to it and start shoving the knife and rosary inside. Then my hand brushes against something hard and plastic. I freeze.

Brooklyn’s cell phone sits next to the backpack, wedged between the strap and the wall. It must’ve landed back here after Riley threw it.

Nerves race up my spine. I glance over my shoulder. Riley and the others are still dragging Brooklyn up the stairs. I pick up the phone and press the power button. The screen lights up. Any fear I had that Riley might see me vanishes. Brooklyn lost a finger. She needs to get to the hospital.

I move my thumbs over the screen.

911, I type. When I press send the screen flashes a warning: 2% POWER.

I swear under my breath. Maybe a text will go through. I press the message icon, and Josh’s last text pops up.