The Merciless (The Merciless #1)(37)
“Help!” Riley yells, sucking the plastic to her lips. Her fingers find the butcher knife, and she waves it around wildly.
Brooklyn pulls her hand back and slams it into Riley’s face. She tries to tear the knife out of her hand, but Riley’s gripping it tight as she stabs at the air, blinded from the cloudy plastic covering her face. Gritting her teeth, Brooklyn slams her elbow into Riley’s fist. Riley swears, and her fingers go slack around the knife handle. Brooklyn yanks at the knife again, and this time she tugs it free.
“Get away from her!” Alexis races toward them just as Brooklyn struggles to her feet, holding the knife in front of her. Alexis freezes, then takes a step backward.
“Don’t you f*cking touch me!” Brooklyn shouts. Now that’s she’s not tumbling around on the ground with Riley, I see just how thrashed she looks. Her clothes are soaked and bloodied, and her hair sticks up in damp spikes. The toilet paper around her destroyed pinkie is gone, revealing the red stub where the tip of her finger used to be. The dirty tub water washed the blood from her skin, but that only makes it easier to see the deep, ugly cuts twisting across her face and legs and arms. Angry purple bruises blossom on her cheeks like flowers.
I lift both arms in surrender and try to catch Brooklyn’s eyes. They’re shifty and nervous, like a wild animal’s. But she holds the knife steady.
“Brooklyn.” I take a step toward her and she jabs the knife at me. This is the moment I’ve been hoping for since Riley first locked us in the basement. The power has shifted. We can finally escape. “Brooklyn, please. I . . .”
Riley pulls the plastic sheet away from her face and pushes herself to her elbow, kicking Brooklyn’s legs out from under her. Brooklyn falls backward and slams into the wall. She loses her grip on the knife, and it clatters to the floor. Riley leaps to her feet and rushes her, throwing a shoulder into Brooklyn’s gut. Brooklyn regains her footing, and the two girls stumble to the edge of the staircase. Brooklyn starts to fall backward down the stairs and Riley tries to pull away from her, but Brooklyn grabs her by the hair, and they hit the floor together. They teeter at the top of the stairs before rolling over the edge, crashing downward in a tangle of arms and legs.
I race to the top of the staircase, Alexis right behind me. They hit the landing together, and Riley manages to pull herself away from Brooklyn. Brooklyn tries to stand, but Riley kicks her in the chest, sending her plummeting down the rest of the stairs alone. I race after her, but before I reach the landing, Brooklyn rolls onto the floor. She lays there, unmoving.
Riley pushes herself onto her elbow, her breathing ragged. Her hair is slicked back with sweat, and there’s a new bruise forming at her jawline. Alexis kneels next to her.
“Does that hurt?” she asks. She tries to touch Riley’s bruise, but Riley swats her hand away, glaring at her. I move around them and start down the steps.
Brooklyn’s arm is wrenched behind her, her legs curled beneath her body at strange, unnatural angles. The bottom steps are streaked with blood. I hold on to the railing as I make my way to the first floor. Riley says something, but her words blur before they reach my ears. I’m focused entirely on Brooklyn. I watch her eyes, praying for them to flicker open. But they’re still.
Halfway down the stairs, I notice Grace hovering next to the wall. It’s so dark that her sweatshirt and blue jeans blend into the shadows, and I can’t quite make out her expression. She must hear me walking down the stairs because she glances up from Brooklyn’s body.
“I think she’s dead,” Grace says.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“She’s not dead.” Riley pushes herself to her feet and limps across the landing. “Grace, help me carry her.”
Grace stares at Brooklyn’s body. Her lower lip trembles. “I . . . I don’t . . .”
“We should call the police,” I interrupt. “Or an ambulance. She could be . . .” I falter, not wanting to say the word dead out loud. “She could be seriously hurt.”
Riley winces as she puts weight on her left leg and starts down the stairs, leaning heavily on the banister. She hesitates next to me and lowers her voice so the other girls don’t hear.
“What would we tell the police? That the girl we’ve been torturing accidentally fell down the stairs?”
She says this so bluntly that it takes a moment for her words to sink in. I smell the wine on Riley’s breath, but I don’t meet her eyes.
“You were here, too, Sofia,” Riley continues. “You think anyone is going to believe you’re innocent just because you tried not hit her when you threw matches on her bare legs?”
“You saw that?” I ask.
“I see everything. Go splash some water on your face. Alexis, Grace, and I will get Brooklyn upstairs.”
The thought of using that sludgy brown water on my face makes my stomach churn, but I head up the stairs anyway. I need to be away from Riley.
I pass Alexis on my way up the stairs. She tilts her head to the side, like she’s listening to something I can’t hear. There’s a raw red spot behind her ear where she pulled out her hair.
I creep past her without a word and head for the master bedroom, but when I put a hand on the doorknob, I change my mind. I don’t want to go inside the bathroom where Brooklyn almost drowned. Instead, I make my way farther down the hall, opening doors until I find another bathroom. I slip inside and close the door. Then I lock it, turning the knob as quietly as possible so there’s no chance Riley will hear it on the first floor.