The Merciless (The Merciless #1)(50)

“When we’re done with Brooklyn, we’ll help you. Okay?” She taps my nose with her finger. “It’s almost dawn. Grace and I need to do something with Alexis’s body before the sun comes up.”

I turn to the window and see that Riley’s right. The black sky has faded to a deep blue. I think of my mother crawling out of bed at seven in the morning as always and finding my room empty. A spark of hope flickers through my chest—if she calls the police, then maybe . . . but no. Even if she called 911 as soon as she found me missing, they’d never find me here. Not in time to stop Riley.

Grace pushes my shoulders down, and I awkwardly sit. “Riley,” I try one last time. “Please don’t leave me here like this.”

Riley ignores my pleas as she opens the attic door and starts down the ladder.

Grace hesitates at the door. “It’s easier this way,” she says. Without another word she follows Riley down to the second floor.

I release my breath in a rush of air. It’s easier. Karen said that to me once, after watching Lila and Erin torture me in biology class. It’s just easier to let them do what they want. What bullshit.

I struggle to keep myself calm, but as reality sets in, each breath feels more ragged. I squeeze my eyes closed, and the situation comes into clearer focus. Riley knows I’m not on her side, that I can’t be trusted. Alexis is dead. Soon, Brooklyn will be, too. Maybe Riley will decide I’m possessed, too. Maybe I’ll be the next person nailed to the floor.

Tears stream down my cheeks. I’m crying for Alexis and for Brooklyn, but also for myself—for fear of what’s going to happen next. I release another sob, no longer trying to keep my pain under control. My shoulders shake, and my chest aches as my breathing gets heavier and heavier. Tears cloud my eyes until I can barely see.

“Stop!” Brooklyn screams. Her voice startles me so much that I dig my teeth into my lower lip, sniffling. Brooklyn groans in pain, and there’s a shuffling sound as she tries to readjust her position on the floor. “This isn’t the time to cry. We need to figure out how to escape.”

“Escape? I’ve been trying to escape since we first got here!” I press my lips together to keep from sobbing again. “There is no escape.”

“Bullshit. We’ve just been thinking about this wrong.” Brooklyn pauses, and for a moment the only sound in the attic is her low, steady breathing. “What’s Riley been saying this whole time?”

“That . . . that you’re evil.” I stutter. “That you’re possessed by the devil.”

“Right. And what would the devil do in this situation?”

The words flash into my head, and I say them without thinking. “Fight fire with fire.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then Brooklyn says, “Exactly.”





CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE


The words repeat in my head: Fight fire with fire. It’s not exactly a solution. My arms and legs are bound so tightly I can hardly move, and Brooklyn is nailed to the floor. There’s no way for us to fight. It’s over.

Still, I keep replaying those words, like something about that sentence can unlock the secret to escape. Brooklyn is oddly quiet, and I wonder if she’s doing the same thing. Or maybe she’s already figured out a plan of her own.

Wind presses against the far window, and the glass groans. There’s only one candle still lit—the thick white one Alexis brought up here. Its flame flickers, like it’s mocking me.

Giggles echo through the floor below us, then the ladder creaks. I shoot a fearful look at the door. Riley and Grace are back.

“Brooklyn,” I whisper.

“I hear them.” Brooklyn groans, and the rough soles of her boots scratch the floor as she moves her legs. “It’s okay. We have a plan, remember?”

“Fight fire with fire,” I whisper. The words echo through my head, meaning nothing to me. Fight fire with fire. Fight fire with fire.

The attic door shudders and falls open with a slap that makes the floor tremble. Still burning, the last candle topples over and rolls to the wall, coming to a stop against a bit of exposed pink insulation. I watch it happen as if it’s a dream.

The flame leaps to the wall and licks the raw wood hungrily.

“Brooklyn, did you see that?” I can’t see Brooklyn’s face, just the blood-coated soles of her boots. She taps them together, like Dorothy. Time to go home.

“All part of our plan,” she says.

What plan? I want to scream at her. All we had were words—words that definitely don’t have the power to knock over a candle.

But as the fire spreads, it burns the question from my mind. The very small, very wooden attic I’m trapped in is going up in flames. I yank against the ropes binding me in place. Smoke seeps into my mouth and presses against the back of my throat.

Riley appears at the attic door as smoke clouds the far corner and rises to the ceiling, thick and dark. She grimaces and waves a hand in front of her face.

“What the hell?” she mutters.

Brooklyn snickers, her laughter bouncing off the burning walls. I stare at her boots, shocked. She’s lost her mind.

Riley hovers on the ladder, the flames reflected in her eyes. Grace’s hysterical voice echoes below, but I can’t make out what she’s saying. Footsteps slam against the floor as Grace runs away.