The Merciless (The Merciless #1)(49)

Keep the devil from taking control of me, too. The words echo in my head, meaningless, but I still feel my breathing begin to steady.

“There’s my girl,” she whispers. “Now, don’t worry. As soon as we beat this, we can all go home.”

“How?” I whisper. Riley wipes a tear from my cheek with her thumb. My skin burns where she touches it, but I try not to let my disgust show on my face. The only way out of here is through Riley. I have to be strong.

“We’ll figure it out. Some exorcisms are just trickier than others.” Riley stands, smoothing her bloodstained tank top. “Take a moment to catch your breath, then come back to the attic. All three of us need to be united if this is going to work. We might have to resort to extreme measures to defeat the demon.”

I nod numbly as Riley turns and walks back up the stairs and down the hallway. Grace crouches near the wall, so still she looks like a shadow.

“Are you ready?” Grace asks. I don’t think I’ll ever be ready to go back up there, but I push myself to my feet and take a step toward her. She wraps a hand around my arm, and we walk down the hall together.

“What do you think Riley meant when she said extreme measures?” I ask before we reach the stairs to the attic. Grace blinks at me blearily. Her eyes are clouded over, and she can barely walk straight. When she speaks, her voice is raspy, almost a whisper.

“She meant that sometimes the host has to die.”





CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO


“Jesus, Sofia, go.” Grace pinches my leg, and the jolt of pain gets me moving. I climb up the last three ladder rungs, then pull myself into the attic. The room itself feels evil, like something twisted crawled into the spaces Alexis left behind.

Riley stares out the window at the far end of the room, one arm angled in front of her. Rope coils around her feet. I peer around the beam. Brooklyn lies, twisted, on the floor, her arms and legs untied. Her spiky blond hair is slicked with blood.

The attic door slams shut behind me. I whirl around in time to see Grace stand and wipe her dusty hands on her jeans.

“What’s going on?” I ask. Grace shifts her eyes to the floor.

Moonlight streams through the window, leaving the attic thick with shadows. I don’t see what Riley’s holding until she steps forward and candlelight illuminates her hands.

The nail gun.

Sometimes the host has to die. Just a few hours ago I’d have done anything to stop this. But now I hesitate, curling my fingers into fists. It’s Brooklyn’s life or mine. By helping her, I make myself Riley’s next target.

Brooklyn whimpers and tries to sit up.

“Almost done,” Riley says. She shifts the nail gun to one hand, then drops to her knees and rolls Brooklyn onto her back.

“Don’t, please!” Brooklyn writhes and kicks beneath Riley’s legs. Riley lowers the nail gun.

I can’t do this. I can’t stand by and watch someone die, even if it means saving myself.

“Get off of her!” I throw my whole body into Riley, using every ounce of strength I have left. “You psycho bitch!”

We tumble to the floor next to Brooklyn. Riley regains her balance first and whips an elbow into my face. I slam back down, pain exploding across my cheek.

“Grace, take care of her,” Riley snarls. Brooklyn tries to move, but Riley straddles her chest and pins her arm to the floor with one hand. I push myself up and try to crawl toward them, but Grace grabs me from behind.

“Let go!” I claw at Grace’s arms, but she just tightens her grip around my chest and drags me away. Splinters jutting out from the unfinished wooden floor scrape the backs of my legs.

An eerie silence fills the attic. Riley lowers the gun. The nail shoots into Brooklyn’s hand with a dull blast, breaking the quiet.

Brooklyn roars with pain, so loud I swear I feel the floorboards tremble beneath my feet. Riley moves to the next arm, pinning it beneath her knee as she positions the nail gun over Brooklyn’s hand. It sticks straight out from her body, like a cross.

“You’re crucifying her,” I whisper, horrified. A thick line of blood oozes over the side of Brooklyn’s hand and pools on the floor.

She aims the gun at Brooklyn’s other palm and pulls the trigger. Metal crunches through skin and bone.

“I wanted to hang her from the beams,” Riley explains, motioning to the ceiling with the nail gun. “But I didn’t think we could lift her that high.” She curls her toes into the floor and pivots around to face me.

“Now, what should we do with you?” she says, almost to herself. She raises an eyebrow, and suddenly it’s as if all the air in the room has been sucked away.

“No, please,” I beg. Grace tightens her grip around my arms, and I can’t move.

“It’s for your own good,” Riley says, gathering the ropes she’d used to tie up Brooklyn. “First you texted Josh, and then you played that little trick with the wine. Now this. I just don’t trust you anymore.”

“Please,” I whisper again, trying to pull out of Grace’s grip. “I can cooperate. I can help.”

Riley untangles a length of rope as she moves toward me. She lifts a finger to her lips.

“This’ll be easier if you don’t struggle,” she says. As Grace holds me in place, Riley binds my arms and legs in thick knots. The ropes pinch the skin around my wrists, and they’re so tight they cut off circulation in my hands. When she’s done, Riley pushes the hair out of my face and leans in to kiss me on the cheek.