Page 59 of Deviant

My cheeks heat up instantly at the reminder.

“That… wasn’t nice. It was… demeaning,” I stammer, trying to push the memory out of my head.

“Call it whatever you want. You still came like fireworks in a Fourth of July show. Didn’t know you had it in you,” he taunts before leaning closer to me. “I can still smell your cunt on me.”

Unwilling for him to see how his words always seem to strike a chord inside me, I begin to push past him, only for him to grab my forearm and keep me still, his taunting expression morphing to a deadly serious one.

“What are you up to, Rowen? Why were you inside that church?”

There is more than mere curiosity in his gaze… there’s something else… something I can’t quite name.

I pull my arm away and look him dead in the eye.

“You’ll find out soon enough. Everyone will. Until then, leave me the fuck alone.”

“Not a fucking chance in hell that’s happening.”

I don’t stick around to ask what he means by that, and instead, I run back toward the town square where my car is parked. Once I reach the parking spot, I unlock my car and quickly get in. Safely inside, I take off the scarf—the one that I’ve been wearing around my neck for the past week—and look at the rear-view mirror just to admire his handiwork. I scowl at my reflection, disappointed to only see faint traces of what was once Elias’s hand imprint on my neck.

It won’t happen again.

Those were his exact words.

If only he knew that those words hurt me more than any other he’s ever said to me. Elias doesn’t respond yet again, leaving me furious at how he never seems to answer any of my questions.

Chapter 11

Rowen

“Don’t make any plans tonight since I’ll need you to pick me up from work,” my father states with a cold tone.

“Not a problem,” I reply, keeping my face down, staring at the cereal bowl to prevent eye contact. Not that he can see me as he’s standing by the kitchen sink, sipping his morning coffee while staring at the front yard through the window. “But if you want to take the car, I don’t mind walking into town for work.”

“You keep the car. I don’t want you walking around on your own this close to the Harvest Festival. It’s not safe.”

I’m always on my own, but I keep that comment to myself.

“Okay. I’ll be there at midnight then.”

“Thank you,” is his curt response, making my shoulders slump.

Like most of our conversations, my father limits his interactions with me to the bare minimum.

It wasn’t always like this.

Dad and I used to have a great relationship. The best, even. I could confide in him with everything that was happening inmy life. He never once judged or reprimanded me for anything, always telling me how proud he was to have me as his daughter.

That all changed last year.

We both changed after what happened, and not for the better.

I’m about to ask if he also needs me to drive him to work when I hear a car honk outside.

“That’s Bobby. I’m off to city hall to review the festival’s security measures with Mayor Davenport again. We can’t be too careful,” he says before placing his empty mug in the sink.

He then picks up his sheriff’s blazer off the back of the kitchen chair and rushes to put it on, eager to head out and start his day without me.

“Dad?” I call out before he’s left the room.

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