Page 29 of Deviant

If this church is where she’s about to have her clandestine rendezvous, then she couldn’t have picked a more poetic place to do what I’ve been itching to do for months now.

I wanted to be patient.

I wanted to be strategic in my vengeance.

But if I catch her fucking someone here… then I can’t be held responsible for my actions.

I see the monstrous scene play out before my very eyes—pinning the fucker she’s banging onto a cross while she watches me gut his insides with my switchblade, then turning on her to slice her up good and deep while whispering in her ear that not even God could help her now.

It will be messy and gruesome, but it will also be out of my hands.

For your sake, Rowen, I better not catch you with anyone here.

I open the church’s doors carefully and slide inside, hiding amongst one of the wooden pillars. I scan the space for her, surprised to find her frantically searching for something or someone.

The fuck are you up to?

Whatever she’s looking for, she doesn’t find it because she lets out an angry exhale before kicking one of the pews with all her might.

She pinches the bridge of her nose, closing her eyelids shut as if in deep thought.

Then as if an epiphany has finally graced her with its existence, Rowen’s lips form a triumphant smile before she takes off and runs toward the back of the church, causing me to have to hall ass after her—a challenging task to achieve when I’m desperately trying to conceal my presence from her.

Damn it.

She’s fast.

I’m still racing after her when I see the church’s back door slam behind her. When I open it, my jaw clenches at the sight before me since the fucking door leads directly to our town’s cemetery.

I haven’t been here since Nora’s funeral.

I couldn’t bring myself to visit my sister here, knowing that her body lies still, trapped in a box.

This is not how I want to remember Nora, so Rowen bringing me here only amplifies my ire.

If I didn’t hate her before, I sure as fuck do now.

And what kind of game is she playing?

I mean, why the fuck is she even here?

Pissed beyond measure, I watch from the sidelines as she scurries through the tombstones, her gaze inspecting the eerie cemetery for something.

The fuck are you looking for, Rowen?

But just as the question repeats itself in my head, I witness her frantic state begin to relax, a sigh of relief escaping her lips. Ever so slowly, she begins to walk toward something. When I turn the corner, I realize she’s approaching the old priest, who is on his hands and knees, tending to a rose bed and murmuring incoherently to the flowers.

Father O’Sullivan—Blackwater Falls’ resident nutjob.

Whatever ounce of sanity he had, left him after he endured the games.

I’ve heard the rumors.

Everyone has.

It’s basically an urban legend now.

Somehow, the priest managed to get himself chosen for the Harvest Dozen twenty years ago in the hopes that he could put an end toThe Scourgeif he met the people behind it.

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