Too Late

by C. Hoover

  “Get the fuck out of here,” Jon growls at Kevin.

  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.

  I pull the covers down, careful not to wake her. Sometimes I just like to look at her while she sleeps. I like to think she’s dreaming about me. Sometimes I touch her, just soft enough not to wake her, but enough to make her moan in her sleep.

  Her T-shirt is bunched up around her waist. I lift it, slowly, inch by inch until her breasts are exposed. And then I lean back, reaching under the covers and into my boxers. I grip myself and begin stroking as I watch her sleep—watch her soft breasts move up and down with each slow breath she inhales.

  She’s so fucking beautiful. All that long, dark hair. Those lashes. That mouth. I’ve honestly never seen another girl as beautiful as her in real life. I knew she’d be mine the first time I laid eyes on her. I couldn’t allow something this perfect to be with anyone else.

  But I wouldn’t allow myself to pursue her right away, because I liked the way she looked at me. I could see the innocence in her eyes as she would stare at me in class. I made her curious. And even though I pretended not to notice her, she made me curious. I could tell she was different from any girl I’d ever been with.

  Nothing scares me—not since I was a kid. But the way I obsessed over the thought of her came pretty damn close to scary. The thought of being able to corrupt something that sweet made me think about her more than anything else in my life.

  Before Sloan, I wasn’t the type of guy who loved girls. Not in the traditional sense, anyway. I used them for what the majority of them are good for. A quick late-night fuck, sometimes a pre-breakfast fuck, but never anything after 8:00 a.m. or before 8:00 p.m. Guys who allow girls in their life between the hours of 8:00 a.m. and 8:00 p.m. have shit for brains.

  That’s a direct quote from my father.

  I used to remind myself of this every time I’d look at Sloan, before she was mine. Every time I’d catch her staring at me in class. Every time my dick would jerk in my pants when I thought about her.

  Shit for brains.

  The more I observed her, the more I started to question my father and whether or not he even knew what the hell he was talking about when I was younger. He probably never experienced a girl like Sloan. A girl who had yet to be corrupted by another man. A girl who was too timid to know how to flirt with a guy. A girl who hadn’t had the chance to become a whore yet.

  I told myself I’d test her out. See if she was the exception to the rule. I caught up with her after class one day and asked her if she wanted to go to lunch. It was the first time I’d ever asked a girl on a date, come to think of it. I expected her to smile and shyly agree, but instead she looked me over, turned away, and kept walking.

  That’s when I realized I was wrong about her. She wasn’t shy. She wasn’t unfamiliar with how cruel people could be. She knew exactly how cruel the world was and that’s why she kept her distance from everyone.

  Little did she know, her fake disinterest made me want her even more. It made me want to pursue her until she wanted every part of me...even the cruelty. It made me want her to beg for it.

  It wasn’t as hard as I thought it would be. It’s amazing how far good looks and humor can get you.

  And...manners. Who knew?

  You hold a fucking door open for a girl, she automatically thinks you’re a gentleman. She thinks you’re the type of guy who would treat his mother like a queen. Girls see guys with manners and think there’s no way they could be dangerous.

  I held every fucking door open for Sloan that I could find.

  I even held an umbrella for her once.

  That was a long time ago, though. That was back when she used to sleep on her stomach. Naked.

  Sometimes I wonder if she’s not as happy as she used to be. She left me once and I fucking hated it. Every second she was gone, I felt like I had turned into every single thing my father feared I’d grow up to be. A lovesick fool. Shit for brains.

  But I do love her. Fuck him and his idiotic bullshit philosophies on love. She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and when she left me, I knew that.

  I knew if she left for good, she’d eventually find someone else. I couldn’t bear the thought of another man’s mouth on hers. His hands on her. His fucking disgusting dick inside of her, when she’d only ever had me there. She was mine.

  And I did what I needed to do to get her back—even if she doesn’t realize it had anything to do with me. I did it for her benefit—because I love her. And I know she loves me. When she came back to me and asked for my help, it was the proudest I’ve ever been of myself. Because I knew at that point it was a done deal. She was mine forever.

  But there’s still that one tiny flaw in our relationship that makes me question the permanence of it. She refuses to accept my lifestyle—always makes me promise her I’ll get out someday. We both know that’ll never happen, though. I’m good at what I do. But I guess maybe I need to prove to her that I can do both. Be what she needs without it compromising my lifestyle.

  I need to ensure she never goes anywhere. I need to make her part of my life permanently.

  I could marry her. I could buy her a house—one where just the two of us lived. Of course I’d be in this house between the hours of 8:00 a.m. and 8:00 p.m., since I seem to be the only one who knows how to properly operate things around here.

  But Sloan could be at the home we would share together, growing babies. When I came home at night, she could feed me, we’d make love, I’d sleep with her by my side. And she’d sleep on her stomach.

  I’ve never thought about marriage before. I wonder why this brilliant idea is just now coming to me.

  She’s never brought up marriage, though. I’m not even sure she’d agree to it. But if she got pregnant, she wouldn’t have a choice. Unfortunately, she uses birth control with more routine than I get my dick sucked. Not that her birth control isn’t something I couldn’t tamper with. But on top of that, she also forces me to use a goddamn condom every time I have sex with her.

  But...condoms are something else I could tamper with.

  I wonder what it would feel like to be inside her without a condom. She’s let me inside of her for a few seconds before—just to prep her before putting on the condom. But I’ve never finished inside of her.

  Her warm pussy squeezing tight around my dick while I release into her, feeling every single sensation without a barrier.

  I groan at the thought of it and start pumping my fist faster. Fuck, this feels good. Watching her, thinking about being inside of her. I need to touch her. I lean forward, bringing my mouth to her exposed breast. I normally try not to wake her, but it won’t be the first time she wakes up to me jacking off on her.

  I slide my tongue against her nipple and tease her, circling it slowly. She stretches her arm out against the pillow and moans. I like that she’s still asleep. I like to see how close I can get her to an orgasm before waking her up.

  I wrap my lips around her nipple and suck gently. It instantly hardens inside
my mouth.

  “Mmm,” she moans again, her sleepy voice breathless. “Carter.”

  My jaw clenches with her fucking nipple still in my mouth.

  What the fucking fuck did she just say?

  I immediately pull away, letting her nipple pop out of my mouth. I look down at her fucking face and release my grip on my dick. It just went limp at the sound of that name passing her lips.

  What the fuck?

  What.

  The.

  Fuck?

  My chest hurts. It feels like someone just crushed it. Dropped a brick on it. Dropped a whole fucking building on it.

  Somewhere between moaning his name and regaining consciousness, Sloan pulled her shirt down over her tits.

  Somewhere between moaning his name and regaining consciousness, I wrapped my hand around her throat.

  She’s staring at me. Her eyes are wide with fear. I’m sure it’s a scary thing to wake up to your boyfriend’s hand around your throat, but she should be lucky she’s not feeling what I’m feeling right now.

  “Are you fucking him?”

  It takes all the effort I have not to scream those words at her. Instead, my voice is calm and collected, unlike every other part of me. I’m not squeezing her throat with any significant force.

  Yet.

  I simply have my hand around it, so she should be answering me right now. She’s able to speak, but she’s not. The fucking whore is just staring at me like she just got caught.

  “Sloan? Are you fucking Carter? Has he been inside you?”

  Sloan immediately begins to shake her head. She presses her palms into the mattress and pushes herself up against the headboard. My hand doesn’t leave her throat.

  “What are you talking about?” she says. “No. Of course not. God, no.”

  She’s looking at me like I’m crazy. She’s very convincing.

  My mother was convincing, too. Look where that landed her.

  I tighten my grip, watching her face as it slowly turns a shade pinker. She winces and fists the sheet at her sides. Her eyes begin to fill with tears.