Page 186 of Merciless

Her mouth curves faintly. “And you are?”

“Ella.” I swallow. “Ella Hart.”

I start crying again. Delaney watches me for a moment. Then she reaches for me again, slower this time, giving me time to refuse.

“Let it out,” she says. “Get the cry out.”

I cry into Delaney Cross’s shoulder while Hazel’s blood dries on me and the dark room closes around us. I cry until my throat burns. Until my body shakes itself empty. Until the sobs become hiccups and then broken breaths.

Delaney doesn’t hush me.

She doesn’t tell me it will be okay.

She just holds on.

When I finally lift my head, she looks at me with fierce resolve.

“Did you let it all out?” she asks. “Are you done crying?”

I draw in a shaky breath, nodding.

“You ready, then?”

“Ready for what?” I choke out.

“To help me figure out how to get the fuck out of here.”

EPILOGUE

The woods behind Vexley House smell like damp earth. The house pulls me back in time. Back to my grandmother’s cottage at the edge of a lake no one important ever visited.

Blue hydrangeas grew wild along the side of the house.

And Gran in the kitchen, always in the kitchen, wearing one of her faded floral aprons and dusting flour off her hands.

She used to fill me up until I thought I’d burst.

Donuts rolled in sugar. Cookies warm enough to bend. Cherry pie with a crumb and powdered sugar topping that made my mouth water. Eclairs stuffed so full the cream pushed through the sides when I bit down. Cinnamon rolls. Lemon bars.

Gran believed a girl should never be sent into the world hungry.

She also believed every bad thing could be survived if you had enough butter, enough sugar, and enough courage.

I didn’t understand that last part when I was young.

I do now.

Gran has been gone a long time.

But walking through these woods, I swear I can almost smell fresh baked yeast breads. Vanilla. Warm apples.

A smile tugs at my mouth.

It doesn’t last.

I’m not here for baked goods today.

The basket hooked over my arm is the same one I used to carry to Gran’s house, and she’d fill it with her home baked goodies that I’d take home to Dad and Shirley.

But that’s not what I’m using it for today. It bumps against me as I walk with caution. It’s heavier than it looks.

Because this basket doesn’t hide almond croissants and cinnamon buns.

No.

It hides black metal, hard edges, and enough firepower to turn this fairy tale into a nightmare.

Guns.

Grenades.

I tighten my grip on the basket handle.

There are wolves in this forest, and I’ve come prepared.