Page 32 of Deviant

Later, Rafe lay sleeping at my side, and that’s when my demons came knocking, and the absence of that shackle around my ankle blared in my mind, refusing to be silenced by my will alone.

Sleep was fruitless.

And that was the thing about obsession; it was a prison, an inspirer of madness. It was the bind that tied Rafe and me together, the urgency that festered in my soul. An ember that never stopped burning, no matter how long Rafe and I had been on the run. I knew all about being focused on something to the exclusion of all other things.

Rafe was by far my biggest obsession, followed by the seed of doubt that Zach had planted in my brain the night I let him escape that damn fight. For the past few months, putting my mother’s death out of my mind hadn’t been easy, but with my dad locked away, out of reach, it had been doable.

Necessary, even.

But Dad wasn’t out of reach anymore. He was free, and probably without conscience as he went about his life, unimpeded by what he’d done. Maybe it was dangerous, but I couldn’t ignore the part of me that needed to look him in the eye and ask if he murdered my mom.

Deep down, I didn’t expect him to admit it. He hadn’t become so successful over the years by giving away his secrets. He was shrewd and lethal.

But his eyes. They’d give him away. If you knew what to look for, the eyes rarely lied.

And Ineededto know.

Rafe wanted me to wait, to move forward first, but what he didn’t understand was that I couldn’t marry him and be happy until I confronted my past.

My dad’s release from prison had tripped a wire in me, had awakened something I thought was dormant. Something urgent.

As I slipped from bed and tiptoed across the room to where I’d left a pair of shorts and a tee stacked on top of my duffle, I prayed for the continued sounds of Rafe’s deep, even breaths. Grabbing a hoodie to ward off the wee hour chill, I slipped my feet into my flip flops, then I headed for the bedroom door, careful not to let the soles of the shoes slap against my heels.

He would be so angry. Fucking furious. He’d left me unchained on good faith that I wouldn’t do anything stupid. But this wasn’t Rafe’s decision to make. Other than Zach, my dad was the only one I could go to about Mom.

Moving through the cabin as if I were an intruder, I grabbed my purse, along with Rafe’s key to the Jeep. He’d left it on an end table by the door. I reached for the knob, but Jax stirred on the couch, his light snores pausing for several heart-pounding moments. He turned over on the sofa, and a few seconds later, his snoring resumed.

I snuck out of the house with a light click of the front door as it closed behind me, and the soft pads of my feet hit the porch stairs. The sight of Jax’s truck brought me up short. If they didn’t awake until morning, I’d be in the clear.

But what if they did?

It would be too easy for Rafe to come after me if the truck were operational. He’d drag me back to the cabin, and my ankle would become best friends with that fucking shackle.

No.

Rafe didn’t understand why I needed to do this. No amount of pleading with him would change his mind. I had to do this, regardless of the risks. I entered the cabin and grabbed a knife from the kitchen before returning outside again.

As I stabbed all four of Jax’s tires, I almost expected to get caught. Fuck, my nerves were fried, but no one tore out the front door. No one’s feet stomped down the stairs. The birds weren’t even awake yet.

It was now or never.

I slid into the driver’s side of the Jeep, entered my dad’s Portland address into the GPS, then slowly backed out of the dirt driveway, the path dark without the aid of headlights, since I didn’t flip them on until I drove far enough away from the cabin. Over an hour later, I turned onto the main highway but had to stop for gas halfway to Portland.

I pulled out some of the money Rafe had given me from his last fight and paid for a strong coffee, a day-old pastry, and a fill-up. The irony didn’t escape me. He’d been generous with everything that came his way, and here I was, using it to betray him.

A twinge of guilt hit me as I returned to the highway, one hand wrapped around the steaming cup of coffee, the other on the leather-covered steering wheel. The pastry sat like lead in my gut the rest of the way to Portland. By the time I turned onto the street where I grew up, the sun had risen, and I was downright nauseous.

My dad’s large, circular driveway sat empty. Hitting the brake, I dug into my purse and found my keys. I hadn’t salvaged much of my previous life after we’d fled Shelton’s the night of the barn fire, other than a few changes of clothing, my birth certificate and identification card. And my keys; one of which was silver with a spot of red nail polish on it.

The key to my childhood home. The key to my past.

Appropriately smudged in the color of blood.

Some nasally sounding pop singer droned through the Jeep’s speakers as I stared at the front door. I could wait in the car until Dad returned, assuming he came back before I lost my nerve. Or I could swallow the lump of fear in my throat and try the key.

Decision made, I killed the ignition before pushing the driver’s side door open. The sun’s warm rays hit my skin, and it made me think of Rafe, sending me back in time to camp and how we’d gotten tangled up in each other under the sun.

I missed him already, though I wasn’t looking forward to facing him after running away in the middle of the night. Crossing the driveway to the covered porch of the De Luca estate, I glanced at my phone and winced at the number of missed calls and texts, all from Rafe.

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