Too Late

I lie back on the couch and close my eyes. I slip my hands in my boxers, wondering when I’ll stop having to think about Sloan just to get off. Even hating her as much as I fucking hate her, she’s the only thought that can get my dick hard.

I think about pre-Luke Sloan. I think about the first night I kissed her in that alley. I think about the fact that my lips were the first to ever touch hers. I think about how fresh and innocent she was. How fascinated with me she was. How she looked at me like she couldn’t get enough. Like I was God Himself.

I miss the Sloan I fell in love with.

Just when I’m getting nice and hard, someone knocks on my door.

“Fuck.” I groan and pull my hands out of my pants. This dude has the shittiest timing. I stand up, wondering if the weight of the ankle bracelet will ever stop feeling foreign to me. Three months of this and I’m about to go fucking crazy. No way I can make it three more. I might as well invest in NyQuil stock and sleep my way through the next three months.

I look through the peephole and then unlock the door to let Anthony in. He already knows not to say too much out loud. I’m not stupid, I know those fuckers probably have my house bugged.

“Hey, man,” I say, grabbing the backpack from him.

“Hey,” he says, glancing around like a paranoid twit. “Found that coconut cake you were looking for.”

Coconut cake is code for computer. Bakery is code for Sloan.

I refuse to use either of the two computers still left in my house. When the District Attorney is trying to build a case against someone, they don’t just leave their computers in their house. They confiscate them. The fact that both of my computers are still here proves they want me to search stuff because they’re watching me.

Just to piss them off, I’ve spent a good hour every day using the computers to search things like, ”How to find redemption through Jesus Christ.”

I even click on church podcasts and let them play so they’ll think I’m actually changing for the better. Hell, last night I took it so far that I created a Pinterest account. That’s right. Asa Jackson has a Pinterest account. I pinned recipes and inspirational quotes for three hours straight just to confuse them.

What a ridiculous fucking world this is.

I take a seat at the dining room table and open the backpack. It took me a month to finally find a guy I knew wouldn’t rat me out. I have too much information on him. He’d go to prison for life if he ratted me out. Besides, Anthony is desperate enough for easy money, he’d probably agree to kill Sloan and Luke for less than I paid him to get this laptop. The only downfall with Anthony is that it has taken him for fucking ever to finally pin down Sloan or Luke. He somehow found a guy who was able to locate an address for them. I didn’t ask too many questions because the less I know about his methods, the better, in case they come back to bite me in the ass. But I’m almost positive there’s a crooked fucker in Luke’s department that spilled the beans for even less than Anthony demands from me.

That’s the thing about humans. We’ll all do despicable things for money.

“Did you find the bakery?” I ask him. He nods.

Fucking hell.

He found the fucking bakery.

“I went and checked it out myself.” He smirks. “You were right. That’s a nice fucking bakery.”

I ignore the fact that it feels like my guts are lodged in my throat because he’s telling me he saw Sloan, and I focus on the fact that I’m pretty sure he just said Sloan was hot. Who does this fucker think he is?

“What’s so special about this bakery, anyway?” he asks, kicking back in his chair. He’s wanting to know why I forked over a clean ten grand for a computer and her address. Another five grand was promised if he was able to get some actual surveillance footage, proving that she actually lives at the address.

“That bakery is one of a kind, Anthony,” I say as I pull the laptop out of the bag. Anthony wrote all the instructions down for how to access the surveillance footage he’ll be uploading for me. Also in the bag is a Wi-Fi box set up in his name so it’s not traceable to me in any way.

“Did you get any cupcakes at the bakery?” I ask him. Cupcakes is code for surveillance footage. We sound like two tools with all this baked goods talk, which is why I switch it up every time he comes over. Last week it was TV shows.

He smirks again. “Yeah, they’re in the bag,” he says, pulling out more sheets of paper from the backpack. He unfolds one and points to an email address and a password, letting me know that’s where I can find all the footage.

My pulse is raging inside me and I’m trying to calm it down, but it feels like my heart is in the middle of a fucking mosh pit.

I want Anthony to leave so I can pull up the footage. I need to see her. It’s been three months since I’ve been able to lay eyes on her. I need to fucking see her.

I stand up and walk down the hallway to retrieve the money I owe him. I toss it on the table and point at the door, letting him know he’s no longer needed today. He slides the envelope in his back pocket. “Anything else you need? I can stop back by tomorrow.”

I shake my head. “Nope. I’ll let you know when I run out of cake.”

He grins and heads for the front door.

I set up the Wi-Fi and log in to the account. There’s a message along with the email that links to the Dropbox. The message is from Anthony.



Recorded about eight hours of footage yesterday and cut it down to actual visual of the couple. Got a couple of minutes of some dude leaving and returning. Halfway through the footage, you’ll see the girl take out the trash. End of footage shows both of them. I’ll record more this week. If you want, we can set it up on a live feed that you can access from this computer. Takes two seconds. Just let me know.



I email him back before I even download the footage.



Of course I fucking want live feed. Why the fuck are you just now telling me this?



I hit send and then download. It takes almost five fucking minutes to download the video in the Dropbox. Once it’s complete, I get up and lock the front door. I don’t want any interruptions.

I also make myself something to drink because my mouth is fucking dry. I feel like puking, just thinking about seeing her for the first time in three months.

I sit back down at the table and hit play. The video is thirteen minutes long. Three minutes is of Anthony just focusing his camera on the front door of their apartment. The angle is high, like he’s filming from the second floor of the apartment complex.

I knew wherever Luke and Sloan were staying, Luke would be extra paranoid. He’s probably personally hired someone to make sure no one is watching the apartment while he’s not there. I had Anthony rent out an empty apartment in the complex with a view of their front door, just so he could get good footage without being obvious by sitting in a parked car.

At three minutes and thirty-one seconds into the video, the front door to their apartment opens. Luke walks out, glancing left, then right. I like that he’s paranoid. I like that every time he opens the door to his apartment, he’s thinking of me. Wondering if I’m there, ready to get my revenge.

The film cuts out and then back in.

That’s when I see it. The front door begins to open.

I see her arm as she swings a trash bag out and onto the ground next to the front door. I barely get a glimpse of her hair as she slams the door shut again. It looked like she was trying to hide. Like she fears she’s being watched. She’s scared to be there alone.

Fucking Luke just leaves her there, all alone, probably for several hours a day. I don’t care if he needs to work to pay their bills. If that were me and I was with Sloan, I’d fucking find a way to protect her. If I knew there was a guy out there who posed a danger to her, she’d never leave my fucking sight.

That’s my first clue that he doesn’t love her like I do.

Like I did.

I don’t love her anymore.

Do I?

Fuck.

I rewind the clip no less than twenty times, watching that arm as she swings the trash outside. Watching her hair sway over her shoulder as she slams the door. My heart speeds up every time I watch it and slams to a stop every time the door closes.

Fucking hell. I do. I still love her.

I fucking love her and it’s killing me that she’s alone in that apartment, too scared to even open the door all the way. That stupid fucking bastard just leaves my Sloan all alone and scared while I’m locked in this stupid fucking house and can’t get to her, thanks to him.

“I see you, baby,” I whisper to the computer screen. “Don’t be scared.”

After a few more replays, I finally let the video continue. It skips forward to a few hours later. Luke’s car pulls up in front of the complex. He gets out and opens the trunk. He begins to pull groceries out of the trunk.

How cute. The motherfucker went grocery shopping for his fake little family.

He walks them to the door and uses his key to unlock it. He tries to push it open, but it’s still locked from the inside.