Their slacks are still undone, shirts unbuttoned, and hair ruffled. Sweat drips from the tip of the black-haired man’s nose, while the other has pit stains marring his white shirt.
I take in all these details with wide eyes, my brain slow to process what’s going on.
Francesca walks in a moment later, staring down at the girls with her lip curled. Then she trains her gaze on us, appearing calm and collected. She’s seen so much-done so much. Does nothing faze her anymore?
“Thank you, gentlemen, for bringing them in here,” Francesca says kindly.
Gloria breaks first, turning and slapping a hand over her mouth. Tears stream from her eyes as she gags beneath her palm. A fire lights in Francesca’s eyes, her head whipping towards the mousy girl.
“Don’t you dare vomit on my floor, little girl. I will cut your tongue from your mouth,” she hisses, her makeup cracking from the tension in her face.
Gloria nods her head, though her face is green and she’s still on the precipice of losing it altogether. All I can do is chant to myself over and over not to puke and completely lose my shit.
Francesca approaches, making sure to keep her precious heels out of the blood. She stares at us with an unreadable expression.
“You will take them outside, and you will put them out of their misery.”
My eyes widen, and Sydney giggles from beside me. It takes effort not to whip my hand out and slap her in the mouth.
“What do you mean?” The question slips out before I can stop it, and I feel instant regret when all eyes turn to me.
“It means,” Francesca snarls through gritted teeth, “that you will end their miserable existence. And then you will dig their graves and hope to God that you aren’t next.”
Chapter 18
The Diamond
My thoughts are running through mud. I’m slow to process her words, even as Rocco and one of his friends break through the crowd of guests and scoop up the girls in their arms, before heading for the door.
My mouth is hanging open, speechless and horrified as I watch the other girls slowly begin to follow after them.
This isn’t real.
This can’t be real.
But when I meet Francesca’s golden-brown eyes, blank and dull, I realize that there’s no escaping this nightmare.
“Go,” she mouths. Blinking, my body follows her command and heads toward the door. But I can’t feel it. It’s an out-of-body experience-I’m only capable of watching myself go through the motions. My feet carry me down the porch steps and to the back of the house where the bonfire still rages, the flames licking the frigid air. Flickers of orange light lash across the night sky, clouds of smoke curling up from the orange glow.
Guests pour out of the house behind me, their excitable chattering rising above the crickets. The air has a pulse to it, thrumming with anticipation and glee, but that’s all wrong.
Two girls are dying tonight, yet all that coats my tongue is the rapture of their glorious deaths.
Phoebe and Bethany are thrown to the ground, their wails heightening from the impact. Tension lines the muscles in my legs, weighing me down and making it nearly impossible to line up with the other three girls in formation.
We stand before them, various emotions clogging the space between us. Resignation and enthusiasm from Jillian and Sydney respectively, but Gloria and I look at each other, absolutely petrified for what’s to come.
Francesca stands on the other side of the bonfire, deep shadows, and bright red accentuating her features. A demon risen from Hell.
“These girls were deemed unworthy in the Culling,” Francesca announces loudly. The men quieten, and I imagine it’s the only time they’ve been inclined to shut up and listen to a woman speak.
“For centuries, we’ve carried on this tradition. In our world, only the strongest can survive. Only those who can endure and persevere no matter what we throw their way. These girls standing before you-they are worthy of you. And they will prove their worth to you by snuffing out those that were not good enough.”
Francesca’s dark eyes turn to us expectantly, but all I can do is stare.
I see Rocco advance towards us, large stones in his hands. Sydney grabs for hers quickly, nearly vibrating with delight.
He stares down at me with expectation, a delighted look on his face. Reluctantly, I grab a rock, surprised by how heavy it is.
Jillian and Gloria grab for theirs, quivering hands curling over hard stone. A tear drips down Gloria’s cherub cheeks.
Noticing it, Rocco leans down, grabs her by the cheeks, and licks her tears; his disgusting tongue sliding up the entirety of her face. She squeals in response, and Rocco snickers darkly.
“Show me one more tear, little girl. I’ll be happy to throw you down next to them.”
“Don’t make me do this,” she pleads quietly, barely above a whisper. Her entire body is quaking in his palms.
“Do you prefer to be the one throwing the stone or to be the one beneath it? Choose now.”
She squeezes her eyes shut and nods her head, accepting her fate silently.
Pleased, Rocco forcefully pushes her away and stands beside Francesca, chest puffed, and hands clasped behind his back. As if he’s a soldier honoring the death of his comrade.
A black hole swirls in my chest, eating up anything good left inside of me. I glare at the duo, the fire in my eyes fiercer and brighter than the one before me.
I can’t decide which I’m more eager to kill. Him, or his sister.
A collective silence ensues, the energy thick and heavy. Not even a cricket chirps, as if the wildlife can feel the tension, too.
Sydney breaks first, cocking her arm and hitting Phoebe with the rock on her shoulder, directly over one of her wounds, a savage cackle echoing in the air.
I wince, my horror growing as she swings mindlessly. Phoebe’s cries reach my ears mere seconds later, and finally, I react on instinct. I push Sydney to the side, ignoring her outraged wail when she lands awkwardly on her hand holding the rock.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Jillian and Gloria kneel, raising their hands and bringing the rock down on Bethany’s head-attempting to give her a quick death.
Adrenaline pumps through my veins, and my heart races. I quickly roll Phoebe to her side, blurring out her extensive injuries.
Sydney clambers to her knees, rushing toward the both of us with murder in her eyes. Growling, I whip my rock directly at her head, ignoring Francesca’s sharp gasp as the rock strikes true, knocking the crazy bitch out cold.
Turning my attention back to Phoebe, I carefully gather her in my arms, cradling her head in the juncture of my shoulder and curling myself over her.
“I will not let you suffer,” I whisper in her ear, desperately and rushed. A hot tear breaks free, burning a path down my cheek. “You saved me, Phoebe. You were so fucking strong and brave, and you will always be my hero. Do you hear me?”
“I… I h-hear you,” she chokes, sobs racking her chest. Inhaling deeply, I lunge for a branch in the pit, barely feeling the flames licking at my flesh.
Rocco rushes towards me, but it’s too late. I’m jabbing the sharp tip of the branch deep into her jugular. Phoebe convulses beneath me, blood pouring from her neck in rivulets. I hold on to her tightly, but I cannot say the same for my shattering soul.
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.