Page 184 of Deviant

One by one, I see my mother’s hand lift a knife and slit her rapists’ throats. These men had been her neighbors once, maybe even her friends, but now they are just flesh under each stab of her knife.

The final image is of her falling to her knees on the cold earth, blood all over her hands and legs.

And that’s how her highlight reel stops. With her bloodied, bruised, and broken.

Now I understand why my mother never returned home… why she didn’t come back for us.

The woman I knew as my mother died in this house.

The one that lived… is nothing but a ghost.

Chapter 33

Elias

As I sit in the dimly lit den, the crackling of the fireplace barely masks the crushing weight of this afternoon’s revelations hanging over us. Rowen’s head rests heavily on my lap, her eyes closed while soft breaths escape her lips—a bittersweet reminder of the warmth we once shared when everything felt whole… normal. Or as normal as it could ever feel in this house.

I continue to stroke her hair, letting the rhythmic motion bring both of us a fragile sense of comfort amidst the horrors we bore witness to earlier. She’s said less than a few words since we’ve returned, and it’s fucking killing me how I can’t take her pain away; all I can do is make her comfortable.

I mean, how will I ever be able to erase the image of her mom being brutalized in such a way? EvenIcan’t unsee that shit. It feels like every time I close my eyes, I’m watching Sarah being gangraped and violated all over again. The shit Rowen’s mom suffered… will forever be branded in my brain and haunt me for eternity.

And the fuckers intended for Rowen to suffer a similar fate like her mother’s, using Chris to do their dirty work.

Hate doesn’t even come close to describing what I feel for these pricks.

But worse than having seen highlights of such depravity and cruelty, is knowing that this is just sport to them… to the men who have held Blackwater Falls hostage for over a century.

I don’t know what pisses me off more.

Knowing that some rich fucks are profiting from us dying on camera or the assholes who pay millions to watch.

It’s all so fucked.

I mean, I knew this was always just a perverse game to them, but I never realized we were actually stuck in agame.

However, once I realized this was just a money-making scheme to our illustrious hosts, I finally understood why they waited until now to select me for the Harvest Dozen. I always knew there had to be a reason why they never chose me before. I honestly assumed it was because of my lack of morals. That they preferred their Harvest Dozen pure and unblemished. The alternative could have been thatThe Scourgebelieved me to be too much of a risk. That I might be psychotic enough to seek revenge if they ever made the mistake of choosing me as a candidate. Whatever their reasonings, I was just glad that it was one less thing I had to worry about. So even as the entire town of Blackwater Falls gave me snide looks and whispered behind my back, wondering what secret I had that kept me from being selected, I did my best to ignore it.

But now I see that I should have paid them better attention.

In their minds, I was the best contender for the games, and if I had allowed myself to really give it some serious thought, maybe I would have realized sooner that being the best was precisely the reasonThe Scourgenever picked me—it would hurt their bottom line.

Fuckers.

The only reason why I’m here is that damn note that I threw down the well.

I’m no threat to you.

I have no intention of winning your fucked up games.

All I want is to kill Rowen Hawthorne.

Her death by my hand will be prize enough.

That is my secret.

Do with it what you will.

I basically signed my own death sentence with that note. They’ll never allow me to win this game. Not when the game is rigged for me to lose.

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