Page 5 of Deviant

But what did I expect?

She hasn’t jumped in the last six months, so why would tonight be any different?

But just as my resentment for her cowardice begins to fester, Rowen lets out a blood-curdling scream that echoes in the air and chills the blood, offering me the first real sign of hope.

The deafening pain in her scream eases the hollow ache I’ve been carrying in my chest since my baby sister died almost a year ago.

Rowen might not have jumped tonight, but she’s sure toying with the line.

She’s on the brink… her very sanity, a fragile twig… ready to snap at the slightest provocation.

Good.

That means all she needs is a push—figuratively or literally.

A little incentive.

It just so happens that I’m more than happy to help.

Because one way or another, Rowen Hawthorne’s days of living a fucking full life are accounted for.

She will die.

And soon.

Either by her hand… or mine.

I’ll make sure of it.

Chapter 2

Rowen

Bored beyond belief, I stare up at Aidan’s bedroom ceiling. My attention is drawn away from my boyfriend—grunting and moaning on top of me—to the small dark water stain starting to spread across it like an ominous creeping shadow.

“You’re so hot, babe. So fucking hot,” Aidan praises in my ear, his head hidden in the crook of my neck as he continues to try to fuck my imprint onto his mattress.

I let out a feigned whimper of approval so that he thinks I’m into his unimaginative dirty talk and uninspired plowing.

I’m not.

Truth be told, I’m taking more pleasure imagining that his bedroom walls are infested with toxic, black mold and that the carcinogenic poison is successfully corrupting my lungs than I am with his poor attempts of trying to make me come.

Not that he notices.

Grunting like some wounded animal, he begins to speed up his thrusts, enthusiastically chasing his orgasm without me.

Nothing new there, either.

Aidan Larsen couldn’t make me come if his life depended on it.

No matter how many times I tell him that getting pounded missionary-style isn’t the turn-on he thinks it is, it’s the only move he has in his less-than-stellar repertoire and the only one that works like a charm to get him across the finishing line—my needs be damned.

I remember a time when that used to aggravate the fuck out of me.

How frustrated I would get with his lack of interest in learning what made me tick… what turned me on… what got me off.

Now… I couldn’t care less.

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