Sophie removes the third nail slower, peeling it back with steady pressure before ripping it free.
Miles slumps forward, trembling violently, forehead resting against his knee. A drop of blood hits the floor.
Elliot straightens, dusting off his hands lightly.
“Wonderful, everyone is making such thoughtful choices today.”
Then his eyes shift to me. Predatory, pleased, curious.
My pulse thunders in my chest.
“Brooke,” Elliot says warmly.
The final round. The worst one.
“Your turn.”
Chapter 9
Brooke
Ikeep my gaze locked forward, even though my hands tremble.
Elliot gestures with a casual sweep of his hand.
Asher steps forward carrying a steel baseball bat, cold, heavy, dented with old damage. Knox approaches behind him, holding a set of darts, metal tips gleaming under the firelight.
Elliot clasps his hands behind his back.
“Would you rather, take three strikes from Asher with the bat, or allow Knox to throw three darts into your back?”
My pulse roars in my ears.
The bat means broken ribs. The bat means bruised organs. The bat means the kind of internal damage you don’t get to walk away from. I have already been kicked there once, and I can’t gamble on a second hit. Not with what I am carrying. Not with the only part of Seth left in the world.
But darts will stay on the surface, mostly. Darts will tear skin and muscle. The pain will still be mine, my back, my flesh, my nerves lighting up. But it won’t be a direct strike to my stomach. It won’t be a gamble with the tiny life inside me.
Seth would’ve taken the pain for me a thousand times over. I have to do the same.
Elliot tilts his head. “Choose, Brooke.”
Asher smirks and lifts the bat. Knox twirls a dart between his fingers, like he is warming up for a game at a bar instead of a punishment.
My breath hitches.
“I choose,” I say as my voice wavers, “the darts.”
A soft ripple moves through the room. Shock, a murmur of pity. A flicker of something like understanding from Miles.
Elliot’s smile tightens. “Excellent.”
Knox steps behind me, light on his feet, almost cheerful as he gestures towards the fireplace. Asher lowers the bat with obvious disappointment, like he was looking forward to hitting me.
I stand and walk slowly to the fireplace.
“Face the fireplace,” Knox says.
My legs tremble, but I turn. Heat from the flames brushes my front. Cold dread presses into my spine.
