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“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 snu

ffing 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.