Too Late

Kevin takes in the scene: Jon pressed against me, one of his hands gripping my hips, the other around my throat, the fear in my expression. I try to shake my head to silently beg Kevin not to walk away, but he misreads the situation, because he laughs. Or...maybe he doesn’t misread it. Maybe he doesn’t care. Maybe he’s just as sick as Jon. Kevin holds up his hands and says, “My bad, man,” and steps back outside.

What the fuck?

Jon spins me around and pushes me toward the living room, out of the kitchen. I try to scream, but nothing comes out. His hand is still clamped around my throat.

The living room is dark and empty and I try to fight my way out of his grip, but I’m getting weaker by the second with every drop of air he’s refusing to let me inhale. I can feel the panic set in, but I force it back down. I can’t lose control of myself right now.

He pushes me onto the couch and as soon as he releases his grip around my throat, I drag in gasp after gasp of air, coughing and sputtering until I have enough air in my lungs to scream. But before I’m able to do that, something cold is placed against my throat. Something sharp.

Oh, God.

I squeeze my eyes shut as soon as Jon’s other hand begins to push my knees apart. I have never felt terror like I feel right now. I’ve been in dangerous situations before—usually at the hands of Asa. But I’ve never feared for my life at the hands of Asa.

Jon is different. Jon would hurt me just to punish Asa.

His hand runs up my thigh and settles between my legs. I can feel my legs shaking from the fear that’s overtaking my entire body.

“Asa thinks everyone else’s girls are fair game, but he’s the only one who gets a piece of this?” He lowers his mouth to my ear. “He owes me a few favors, Sloan. And I need you to repay one right now.”

“Jon,” I choke out. “Please stop. Please.”

He brings his mouth to mine. “Say please again,” he whispers.

“Please,” I plead one more time.

“I like it when you beg.” His mouth crashes against mine and I immediately taste bile as it makes its way up my throat. There’s nothing gentle about his mouth as his tongue forces its way past my lips. The more I try to fight to free myself, the harder he presses the blade against my throat.

Through all the fear and all the struggling, I’m somehow still able to hear the quiet click of a gun.

Jon freezes on top of me and when I open my eyes, I see the metal tip of a gun pressed against his temple.

“Get the fuck away from her,” Carter says.

Oh, God. Thank you, Carter. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Jon’s hand slowly leaves my throat. He presses it against the back of the couch. “You’re gonna regret this,” he says to Carter.

I look up at Carter, seeing something in his eyes I’ve never seen before as he stares down at Jon.

“You’re wrong,” he says, his voice steady. “The only thing I’ll regret is not shooting you three seconds ago.”

Jon swallows and slowly begins to back away from me. Carter never pulls the gun from his head as Jon pulls himself to a seated position. Carter moves the gun to Jon’s forehead and stares down at him.

“Apologize to her.”

Jon doesn’t waste a breath. “I’m sorry,” he says, his voice shaking.

I pull my legs away from him and scramble off the couch. I back away from the couch, behind Carter. I bring my hand to my throat and rub at it, trying to massage away the pain from Jon’s grip.

Carter takes a step away from Jon, but keeps the gun pointed at him.

“I think we both have secrets we’d like to keep from Asa. You didn’t see me in the kitchen with Sloan and I didn’t see you forcing yourself on top of her. You agree?” Carter says to him.

I don’t know how I feel about that—being their bartering tool. But I know if Jon goes to Asa with his suspicions of what he saw between me and Carter in the kitchen, Asa will hurt Carter. And that’s the last thing I want.

Jon nods. “I never saw a thing.”

Carter says, “Good. We’re on the same page then.” He presses the tip of the gun back to Jon’s forehead, shoving Jon’s head against the back of the couch. “But if you touch Sloan again, I won’t even worry about having to inform Asa because I’ll fucking kill you myself.” Carter uses all his force to smash the gun against the side of Jon’s head. Jon doesn’t even have the chance to react. He falls against the arm of the couch—his whole body limp. Out cold from one blow to his head.

I’m staring in shock at Jon when I feel Carter grip my face. I glance up at him and he’s giving me the once-over, checking for injuries. “Are you okay?” he asks.

I nod. As soon as I start nodding, the tears start coming. Carter pulls me to him and my whole body starts to shake with sobs.

He runs his hand down the back of my head and presses his lips against my ear. “Sloan, I hate to ask you this because the last place I want you to be is with Asa right now. But you’re safer up there. Go to your room and don’t come out for the rest of the night, okay?”

I nod, because I know he’s right. Asa is the devil himself sometimes, but at least he would never allow anyone in the house to hurt me. Besides, he’s out cold. Just like Jon.

Carter walks me to the base of the stairs. “Do you have your cell phone on you?”

“Yes.”

“Call me if you need me tonight. Otherwise, I’ll see you in the morning,” he says, running a soothing hand over my cheek.

I completely forgot about tomorrow. I have school tomorrow. Class with Carter. The thought of being with him at school—away from all this shit—is the only thing I have to look forward to right now.

“Okay,” I say, my voice still shaking from the result of the last half-hour.

He leans in and kisses me on the forehead, then releases me. Jon starts to stir on the couch, so Carter nods up the stairs, wanting me out of the room before Jon wakes up. I turn to walk up the stairs, in shock over how different life inside this house is compared to what it’s like outside this house.

Normally, when someone gets attacked, it’s reported to the police. But inside this house, it’s handled internally. It’s used as a bargaining tool. And instead of going to the police, I go upstairs to a guy who is ten times more dangerous than the person who almost raped me.

This house doesn’t follow the same rules as the outside world. This house is a prison with its own set of rules.

And Asa is the warden. Always has been.

I just don’t think Asa realizes that now that Carter is here, he could easily be overthrown.

I hope he never does realize it. Because that wouldn’t be good for any of us.





My mouth is fucking dry. It tastes like I’ve been sucking on a goddamn towel all night.

I roll over to reach for one of the bottles of water Sloan always keeps by our bed. I can’t open my eyes because my whole head feels like it’s about to explode, so I feel around the nightstand until I find one. My hands are shaking. I already want another hit. This time I’ll be smart about it. I won’t do it when I’m so torn up on whiskey, I pass out and waste my fucking high like I did last night.

I bring the bottle of water to my mouth and down the entire contents in two huge gulps. I toss the empty bottle across the room and fall back onto my pillow.

I’m still thirsty.

I stretch out my arms and accidentally hit Sloan in the shoulder. I glance over at her, but my head is too groggy to focus. She rustles a little, but she doesn’t wake up. I look at the alarm clock and squint. It’s 4:30 a.m. She still has two hours before she has to get up and get ready for school.

I give myself a minute to adjust to the darkness until I can see her really well. Then I roll onto my side and watch her sleep.

She sleeps on her back now. Never on her side, never on her stomach. When I was a kid, my dad always slept on his back, even when he’d pass out on the couch from whatever substance he was abusing that day. I asked him why he slept like that once and he said, “When you’re on your back, you’re prepared for anything. It’s easier to wake up and protect yourself. If you get too comfortable, you’re left off guard.”

It makes me wonder if Sloan sleeps on her back as a protective method. Then it makes me wonder if she sleeps on her back to protect herself from me.

No. She doesn’t fear me like that. She fucking worships me.

She used to sleep on her stomach, though. Maybe I just need to buy a new mattress. Maybe she just doesn’t like this bed.

She also used to sleep naked, but she hasn’t done that in over a year. She claims it’s because there are too many people in this house and she doesn’t feel comfortable. It used to bother me when I’d crawl on top of her at night, only to find she was wearing fucking pajamas and I couldn’t slide inside of her until after I got them off of her.

After complaining enough, she finally compromised and only sleeps in a T-shirt now. Easier access, but I’d still rather her be naked.