Page 73 of Deviant

“Time for what?” I ask in confusion.

“Death.”

A cold sweat starts to bead down my back at the conviction in her voice.

“No,” I retort, getting up from my knees.

She nods, her steel gaze never wavering from mine.

“I said no. I won’t do it,” I bark out, knowing exactly what she’s asking of me.

A few months after Nora passed, my mother came to me with one request—that I give her a mercy killing once she could no longer cope with her condition. My mindset then is the same one now—hell-to-the-fucking-no.

“Don’t look at me like that, Mom. I won’t do it.”

Her gaze dims in sadness, but she doesn’t break eye contact with me for even a second.

“You… will.”

“I won’t.” I shake my head vehemently. “I told you before that I can’t do that. I just fucking can’t. Not to you.”

I wouldn’t lose a wink of sleep sending someone else to meet their maker. I’d sleep like a fucking baby with their blood still on my clothes.

But my mother?

Killing the one person who has always loved me unconditionally since birth?

Yeah… there are some fucked-up things that even I can’t do.

I don’t love easily.

Fuck.

I don’t love, period.

In all my life, only two people earned that sentiment from me—my mom and my baby sister. No one else. As long as those two were alright, the whole of Blackwater Falls could fucking burn to ash for all I cared.

I never really wasted my time psychoanalyzing myself as to why I’d be just fine watching the world burn as long as the people I loved were safe. It’s just how I’m built, and I’m okay with it.

Perhaps if we were out in the real world, I would try to be a different kind of animal—one that gave a fuck. But living in Blackwater Falls, not giving a shit, actually works in my favor. After all, I suspect it’s one of the traits that has kept me from being chosen for the Harvest Dozen all these years – that and the fact that I’m a little unhinged when it comes to holding grudges. They want people they can manipulate. Easily killed. They don’t want me. They know if they made the mistake of choosing me, I’d give them a fight they would never forget.

Fuck.

Not only would I win the games, but I’d go to the ends of the earth to kill every motherfucker who organized it.

Whoever is behind this fucked-up ritual must know that.

So why tempt fate when there is no need for it?

Smart fuckers.

“Let me clean this up and get you another bowl,” I say, pretending that my mom didn’t just ask me to off her.

She turns her face away from me, knowing she’s lost today’s battle. Unfortunately, I know that she’s stubborn enough to ask me again, thinking she will tire me into doing what she wants.

But I won’t submit.

I will not take my mother’s life.

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