Page 224 of Deviant

I’m here all alone.

No Nora to lead me.

No Harper and Andy to laugh with.

No Abbie to protect and guide.

But worst of all… no Elias to love me.

I have no one but myself.

That’s not true.

Hmm.

My father might have written me off, but I still have a parent who is alive somewhere in this great big world—my mom.

Maybe if I can figure my shit out, I’ll be able to track her down. Though I’m unsure of which state I’ll find her in, after witnessing the hell she had to endure in her own games, I at least have to try—if only to thank her for her sacrifice.

Once I find a hotel that fits the bill, I settle in and start making a list of everything I have to do.

I spread the contents of my backpack on the bedspread, crossing my legs as I stare at each one. The plane ticket Henry gave me is for tomorrow, but there’s no way in hell I’ll be on that plane. If I were smart, I’d leave the money in the Caiman Islands and let it rot there.

But Henry was right.

That kind of money can make anyone disappear if they put their minds to it.

However, if I truly want to disappear and leave no trace of my existence, I’ll need to become a whole different person.

This means I’ll need a new name, a new social security number, and a new passport.

A tall order for a girl who doesn’t know anyone.

Luckily for me, ifThe Scourgetaught me anything is that I can be extremely resourceful when the time calls for it.

And there is no better time than now.

Chapter 40

Rowen

For the last five months, I made sure to never stay in one spot longer than a couple of weeks, for fear thatThe Scourge’shosts might find me. If I want true freedom from their shackles, then I have to keep moving. If they can’t find me, then they can’t hurt me. I’m not sure how long I’ll be on the run for, but until I find a safe port where I can breathe without fear, then I guess it will be a while.

But there is another reason why I don’t stay in one spot for too long.

During my travels, I’ve gone up and down the east coast, trying to find people who I can buy new identities from. As luck should have it, I found such a person in a bayou in New Orleans.

“Two thousand should cover it,” Jim says, with a toothpick hanging from the corner of his mouth.

“Great. Make that two passports, then.”

“Sure thing. I just need a picture of whoever the second one is for,” he replies from his rocking chair before clearing histhroat and spitting out the foulness it produced to his porch floor.

Usually, I’d be annoyed at his aloofness and bad manners, but it actually works in my favor. If this side hustle of his is routine, and I’m just another paying customer, then hopefully, he’ll forget my face and that I was ever one of his clients.

“Both passports are for me,” I inform, dropping my photograph on his lap, next to the shotgun he has laid on top of it.

“Then the price is five thousand.”

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