Page 62 of Deviant

“Come on, Rowen. Snap out of it. Now is not the time to throw yourself a pity party,” I chastise, forcing myself to pull all my focus back on my objective instead of dwelling on things that I can’t control.

After checking online that the drug is most potent in liquid form, I continue to scan the small room, searching for a bottlethat might resemble something like that. But for the life of me, I can’t seem to find anything similar lying around here.

Time is ticking.

I’m going get caught if I don’t hurry up.

“Come on, come on, come on. Where are you?” I mumble under my breath.

And then I see it. Right at the back of the evidence room, standing stoutly against the wall, is a locker with a sturdy grid frame of iron bars that allows a glimpse into its shadowy confinements while a heavy padlock glints ominously at the front.

Typical of my father—keeping the guns out for anyone to take, but the drugs under lock and key.

With the keychain at hand, I try on almost every key, desperation starting to wreak havoc on my nerves, thinking that perhaps he keeps this locker’s key somewhere else. But just as I’m about to give up, the lock clicks open. I let out a sigh of relief and open the door, finding more drugs than I’ve ever seen in my entire life—and all labeled, no less. Though, to be fair, the only drug I was ever exposed to was a joint that Aidan persuaded me to smoke before losing my virginity to him.

“It will relax you. Trust me.”

It didn’t.

All it did was make me paranoid that someone was listening to us doing it for the first time.

It made the whole experience way more awkward and uncomfortable than it had to be.

I push Aidan out of my mind and focus on the task at hand. Having prepared myself beforehand, I pull a little bottle from my backpack and start pouring the odorless liquid into it. I fill it to the brim to ensure I have enough and then seal it shut, carefully placing it into my bag.

Just as I’m about to close the locker, a little plastic bag with pink pills in it catches my eye. I’m pretty sure they’re ecstasy pills, but the label on it is too smudged to be sure. I strain my eyes and make out the letter E at the start of it.

Good enough.

“If the Rohypnol doesn’t work, it’s only smart to have a backup plan,” I mutter softly to myself as I store two pills in my pocket.

With the drugs carefully stored away, I slowly leave the evidence room and rush over to my father’s office in a nick of time.

“Rowen? I’m surprised you’re still here. I was sure you’d left ages ago,” Bobby says behind me.

With my back turned to him, I pick up the photograph frame of my mother that my father always keeps on his desk.

“Sorry. I just needed a minute,” I explain, making a show of waving the frame in my hand before placing it back in its proper spot.

“You look like her, you know?” Bobby says, with a sad taint to his voice. “I’m sure Hank sees it too. How much you look like Sarah when she was your age.”

I swallow dryly because I didn’t expect to get so emotional with Bobby’s remark despite wanting to get him off my scent.

“In five years, I will be older than my mother was at the time The Scourge took her from us.That is assuming I don’t get chosen first.”

Bobby’s eyes close as if the mere idea of that happening pains him.

“That would fucking kill your old man. Don’t even think about such a thing. It does no one any good.”

“Easier said than done,” I smile meekly at him. “This town can’t think of anything else this close to the Harvest Festival. It shouldn’t surprise you that is all I can think about either.”

Thanks to Nora, it’s all I think about twenty-four-seven lately.

“Now, don’t you fret about that,” Bobby says, trying to comfort me. “I very much doubt you’ll get picked. They don’t want good girls like you. Trust me.”

And there it is.

Good girls don’t get picked.

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