Lauren

LAUREN

Vega ran her thumb along the mouth of the Schlitz bottle, watching the door of the pub from her booth.

This was the only bar in Oregon that sold Schlitz. The beer tasted like burnt rubber, but something about the old label design comforted her. She was a glutton for comfort—soft old t-shirts, ugly small dogs, labels that made her nostalgic even if she didn't know why. The grease splatter on the menu. The Christmas string lights hanging over the crusty bar counter. Any reminder she possessed some concept of a soul fueled her tank, and right now she was running on fumes.

The door squealed open and shut. Chelsea Morton stood there, wringing the strap of her designer bag, and took comfort in how nervous she looked.

Chelsea spotted and beelined for the booth, before sitting across from her. She adjusted herself in the seat and tucked a lock of highlighted hair behind her ear. "Well?"

took a swig of her warm beer. "Relax."

The bartender had already swooped upon their table, a woman too old and jaded for manners. She waited with her arms crossed.

"She'll have a tequila soda," said .

Chelsea held her hand up. "Just a club soda, please." The bartender rolled her eyes and left, and Chelsea turned back to . "I stopped drinking."

took another sip. "Good for you."

"I can't stay long."

A smile crept across 's face. "Unless you plan on pulling a gun out of that purse, you'll stay as long as I want you to stay."

Desperation flashed across Chelsea's face. "I already did my part. Please ."

The thing with depravity was that everyone involved deserved to be a little nervous at some point. A little scared they wouldn't get what they'd signed up for. Those were the rules, and as far as was concerned, Chelsea had gotten her part of the job done with hardly a hitch. There was that part at the beginning where she'd gotten so drunk at the college bar that she almost blew it with Holden, because Holden was too damn good to take advantage of a fly.

She'd had a nice recovery after that fumble. would give her credit for that. She had expected her little catalyst here to be a larger liability.

Chelsea jumped when the bartender slammed the plastic cup of soda water on the table and left again. She pinched a brown napkin from the plastic holder and wiped away the spill, then tucked the soggy napkin to the side, folded her hands in front of her, and bounced a bit in her seat.

slid the banded bills from the inside of her leather jacket and tossed them onto the table.

"What if someone sees?" Chelsea whispered, eyes darting wildly around before she swept up the money.

"There's no one in here except for a bartender who wouldn't care if we pulled off a heist right now."

Chelsea bit her lip and glanced down at the money in her lap.

"You can count it if you want," said.

"Is he okay?" Chelsea asked .

Oh, please. Chelsea hadn't hesitated when first offered the proposal and a payment of twenty grand. Distract a nice, vulnerable man for a few months and heartlessly ditch him. Easy for a broke young girl who didn't understand the meaning of relationships.

"He's fine."

"Why..." Chelsea tucked the cash into her purse and nervously took a sip of her soda water. "Why did I need to do it?"

Now she cared. "That answer will cost you five grand."

Chelsea straightened her shoulders. "Fine." She stood, brushing down the front of her blouse. "There are apps for these kinds of transactions, you know."

"You're not that stupid," said.

"What am I supposed to do with a wad of cash ?" she hissed.

shrugged. "Don't spend it all in one place. People will think you're a criminal."

"Whatever." Chelsea spun on her heel, struggled with the front door a bit, and left.

sat back in the booth and drained the rest of her beer. She glanced over at the bar, and the bartender shot her a smile full of dead teeth.

"Bad Tinder date?" She seemed very proud of herself for knowing what Tinder was.

smirked. "Sure."

She pinned a twenty beneath her empty beer bottle and left, lighting a cigarette as she walked to the truck she'd bought off a farmhand. In the cab, she rolled the hand crank and took a long drag before exhaling out the cracked window.

Cameron Yarrow hadn't registered 's influence on her decisions, but what had done to Holden made her feel bad. At least he wasn't a sacrificial lamb. Neither of them were. They were just pieces, and to move across the board, Holden needed to feel unwanted and have no reason to come back home.

She slid two cards from the pocket of her jacket and fanned them between her fingers.

The Martyr. A woman on a pyre, skin melting from her bones.

The Mother. Her means of revenge.

took another drag of her cigarette before tossing the cards into the cup holder and starting the engine.