You Are Mine Little Sister (by Syra Tucker) novel Chapter 158

She looked mean. I could also tell she'd be calling for help any moment if I didn't return to the floor.

"I—I need to pee." My nails picked at a loose thread on my sleeve.

"What do I care? You know the rules, bitch. Get down on the floor and hold that clit till I'm done."

I trapped my shaking hand under its twin so she wouldn't notice. I dropped back to the floor under the window and counted the seconds until she turned back around to continue mopping.

My heart was no longer beating; it was sprinting, tripping, crashing into the walls of my ribs like it wanted out.

I closed my eyes, stacked breath upon breath, and let the voices argue me into action. Then I rose, this time not giving myself space to think.

Not with the knife—hell no. I already came to terms with the fact that I couldn't do that.

I picked up a rickety bedside lamp that hadn't worked a day since I came here, inched toward her, and brought it down on her head with a bone-thick crack.

She lurched sideways, knocking into the cart, the mop bucket tipping over and fanning soapy water across the floor.

That should be enough to make her pass out. Please, tell me it did.

She groaned instead, one hand to her head, her face pressed to the floor.

Fuck. Still conscious.

I dipped to swing again but was too slow. She twisted and popped me in the jaw so clean I saw white stars.

A second later she was up on an elbow, her mask down from her face. She hit me hard in the face before shoving me back with a force that was hard enough to hurt. The knife slipped from my waistband, skittering across the wet floor.

We both tracked it. Her eyes widened, like she couldn't believe what she'd just seen on me.

Then, she opened her mouth, and I knew she was about to scream.

"Hey—!"

I lunged with everything left in me, my fingers scooping the knife on my way. My feet skidded in the water, but so did hers. She tried to scramble up, slipped, and fell with a slap against the wet tiles.

Before she could draw breath for another scream, I was on her, pressing a trembling hand over her mouth, forcing her head back against the soaked floor. Her nails raked my arms as her muffled cries vibrated against my palm.

"Please, don't. I don't want to hurt you." I begged.

I didn't even know where I had the strength to keep her pinned to the floor.

She bit my palm and I yelped.

Oh, God.

'The girls were right when they told me you didn't have the spine for it,' Josephine's words mocked me now.

Shit. This wasn't just about me. There were lives at stake.

Lives at stake.

Lives at stake.

My hands clamped over my ears, but it didn't help. Not with words now living inside my skull.

I dissolved into deeper sobs, muttering aftershocks no one could hear.

"I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to do it. I'm not a murderer. I'm not a murderer."

....

The ghost of the girl seemed to cling in the room, pressing me down, pinning me to the floor. My body curled tighter, as if making myself small enough could make her disappear.

I was so frightened to move an inch, not minding the fact that time was slipping away.

One jagged thought finally cut through the panic: if I stayed, her body would be found. They'd know what I'd done. They'd know I tried to run. And it wouldn't just be my head they came for—every girl who trusted me would pay in blood.

The other girls were probably pulling theirs off without a hitch. They didn't deserve to burn for my hesitation. That was the only reason I peeled myself off the floor. My body shook so hard my bones felt like dice rattling in a cup. Not even the Ash Twins had managed to wring me out this violently.

I tried not to look at the corpse as I made my way to the bathroom where I washed my hands. Next, I pulled out the case of contacts. The girls had been worried my eye color might give me away since I was the only one with it. So, Josephine got me a pair of black contacts which she'd managed to steal from the cosmetic room.

I fixed the contacts, then came the worst part: Stripping her. Undressing the dead was its own kind of torment; something I'd never prepared for even in this hellhole. Her uniform smelled of bleach and sweat, the bonnet was damp with her hair, the mask stiff with hours of breath. I forced each piece on, each tug reminding me she wasn't going to need them anymore.

I didn't have a mirror in my room, but with the disguise, I didn't think I looked much different from the cleaners.

I paid the corpse one long, final look, told her I was sorry, then left the room, pushing her cart in front of me.

I kept my head low as I walked down the corridor. There were armed men on almost every corner. Unlike when they'd have ogled at me in my thong set, they barely glanced at me as I walked past them in the cleaners uniform.