The Merciless (The Merciless #1)(59)

Luckily, it doesn’t take ten minutes for Charlie’s red truck to roll down the street and slow to a stop in front of Riley’s house. Charlie throws the door open and jumps out without cutting the engine. He’s wearing faded jeans and a sweatshirt, and his hair sticks up in all directions.

“Sofia? What is it? Are you okay?” He stops in front of me and reaches for my shoulder, but I immediately pull away. I feel dirty, like all the horrors of this weekend are streaked across my face. Like he’ll know what I’ve done just by looking at me.

“I need to borrow your car.”

“What?” Charlie frowns, and the dimple disappears from his cheek.

“It’s a long story. But I need to go somewhere. Now.”

He leans in and kisses me on the forehead. Just a couple of days ago this would have made my stomach flip, but now it feels like something I’ve stolen. I don’t deserve a guy like Charlie.

“You can tell me the long story on the drive,” he says. “I’ll take you wherever you need to go.”

I start to shake my head before he’s even finished speaking. Hurt flashes across his face.

“Look,” I say. “You can’t come. I can’t explain why right now, but you just . . . you can’t.”

Charlie’s frown deepens. “Sofia, if you’re in some kind of trouble, I want to help.”

“You can’t.” This comes out sounding more frantic than I intend for it to, but I can’t help it. I’m running out of time. “Charlie, you’re a really nice guy, but you’re better off without me.”

Charlie laughs and reaches for me again. “That’s not true.”

I lean away from him, pressing against his truck. “It is true,” I say, slipping my fingers into the door latch. “I’ve done terrible things. You’d hate me if you knew. You’ll probably hate me for this, too, but it’s for the best.”

Charlie shakes his head. “What are you talking about?”

I don’t answer. Instead, I open the car door behind my back and slip into the front seat, pulling the door closed. Before he can reach for the latch himself, I hit the lock.

“Sorry!” I yell. Charlie bangs against the glass, and the muffled fwump fwump echoes through the truck.

“Sofia!” he shouts, but his voice sounds far away. I shift the truck into drive. If I see how betrayed he looks, I know I won’t be able to do this. I close my eyes when I hit the gas and keep them closed when the truck lurches forward.

By the time I open them again, my vision is clouded with tears, and I wouldn’t be able to see his face anyway.

? ? ?

I look up Lake Whitney on my cell while I drive, and follow the directions to a misty flat park surrounded by dense woods. I slow Charlie’s truck as the road narrows and curves into the trees. The moon peeks over the distant hills and reflects off the steely lake, turning the trees gray and silver through the fog.

Houses line the waterfront, and just as I start to worry that I’ll never find Riley in time, the road curves again, ending in front of a private beach and a thick cove of fir trees. Beyond the tops of the trees, I see a dark, slate-colored roof and chimney. I shift the truck into park and push the door open, but I leave the engine running, like Charlie did. Riley and I might have to make a quick getaway. Shoving my hands in my sweatshirt pockets, I hurry down the rocky gravel driveway.

I immediately recognize Riley’s family’s lake house from the photograph. It’s a low, sprawling cabin made of weathered gray wood. Floor-to-ceiling windows cover one entire side of the house, showing a darkened room filled with sleek, modern furniture. A narrow wooden dock stretches far out into the lake. I picture Riley and Alexis spreading their beach towels across the wood and slow to a walk. I’m sure this is the right place. But it looks empty.

Then something moves on the porch, and I turn, narrowing my eyes.

Riley’s huddled beneath a blanket on one of the wooden chairs, holding a cup of tea. She flinches when she sees me walking toward her, then sets the teacup on the ground and stands. The blanket drops from her shoulders.

“Sofia.” Her voice cracks when she says my name. “Oh my god. I thought . . .”

She lets the end of her sentence trail off, but I know what she was going to say. She thought I’d died in that house with Brooklyn. She thought the fire had killed me.

“We have to go.” I don’t mean for my voice to sound flat and angry, but it does. As relieved as I am that Riley’s not hurt, I can’t just forget what happened last night—the fact that she left me to burn, the things she did to Brooklyn and to me.

She studies my face, and something inside her cracks. Tears pour down her cheeks.

“Sofia, things got really out of control,” she says. “I don’t know what . . .”

The truck’s engine sputters, interrupting her. I step forward and grab her arm.

“We can talk about all that later,” I tell her, glancing nervously over my shoulder. “But right now we have to get out of here.”

Riley frowns. “Why? What’s wrong?”

“Grace,” I say. “She’s dead.”

Riley’s eyes widen in horror. She takes a step back. “No.”

“It was Brooklyn,” I continue. “You were right about her all along. She’s evil. She killed Grace, and now she’s coming after you.”