But this is the moment my soul and I need to finally become one. This is the moment my body needs to align with the rest of me, to calm the nerves, to protect the baby growing inside of it, to preserve our lives for as long as it possibly can. And the only way that can happen is if I give this body to Asa.
That's all I'm doing. It's just a body. My soul is still strong. It's fighting the only way it knows how. But my body needs to give in... just long enough to save me.
I tell him what he needs to hear. I touch him like he needs to be touched. I make the noises I've trained myself to make for him. I speak the lies to him that I've trained myself to speak.
I've been pretending to love him for two years. What's one more day?
Finally, after he finishes...again...I feel it. A sense of peace. A quiet calm, letting me know that my soul and my body and my mind and my perseverance have all come together in understanding. We are going to fight Asa with the only weapon stronger than he is. We're going to fight him with love.
He falls to my side again and pulls me so that I'm facing him. I smile and cup his cheek with my hand. "What now?" I ask him, gently stroking his face with fingers I've somehow convinced to stop trembling. "How do we get out of this mess, Asa? I can't lose you again."
He grabs my hand and kisses it. "We get dressed and walk out the front door, Sloan. Simple as that. And then we go somewhere...anywhere. We get far away from here."
I nod, taking in all that he just said.
Asa is dumb as shit, but somehow, he's also one of the smartest people I've ever met. I've always had to try to stay a step ahead of him. This is no different. Every move he makes from here on out is a test. I dissect his words and flip them over in my head.
He knows we can't go out the front door. He knows about the surveillance. That's why he came through the window.
I shake my head. "Asa, you can't walk out the front door," I say, forcing myself to sound worried for him. "Luke has me under surveillance. If whoever is out there sees me with you, they'll call Luke."
Asa grins.
It was a test.
He leans forward and kisses me on the forehead. "We'll go out the window, then."
"I need to pack first." I start to get up, but he pulls me back down.
"I'll pack for you," he says. "Don't get off the fucking bed."
He stands up and looks around the room. I can see the veins in his neck bulging as he notices all of Luke's things. I try to distract him from his own anger.
"There's a bag in the top of the closet." I point toward the closet and I see his eyes as they scan the distance from the bed to the living room. He walks toward the closet and slams the bedroom door shut as he passes. His way of letting me know that I better not even try to run.
I take in my physical posture on the bed and realize that it looks like I'm poised to jump at any second. I'm not being convincing enough.
I lie back on my pillow and try to look relaxed. He walks out of the closet and scans me, smirking. He likes that I didn't try to run. He's letting down his own guard.
"So fucking beautiful, love," he says, tossing the bag onto the bed. "What do you want me to pack?" He looks around the room. His eyes fall to the dresser--at the picture of me and Luke. I printed it out a week ago and framed it. I can see the roll in Asa's throat. "Excuse me for a second," he says, walking toward the bedroom door.
"Where are you going?" I ask, sitting up on the bed. He opens the door and walks into the living room.
"I left Jesus-on-a-stick near the window. I need Him."
What the fuck?
He's back before I can process what he said, and he's holding something in his hand.
"Is that a crucifix?"
What in the hell?
He smiles with his nod, and then he brings the crucifix up over his head with both hands, and then straight down again, right on top of the framed picture on the dresser. I flinch with the first blow, but he bashes the cross against the frame, over and over, until it's in a dozen tiny pieces.
I'm absolutely terrified. But I force myself to laugh. I don't know how. Every part of me wants to scream out in terror right now, but I know that's the last thing I need to do. I'm playing a part, and that character needs to laugh for Asa, because he needs to know that I have no feelings for that picture frame.
He glances at me and enjoys the smile on my face. He grins from ear to ear, so I point at the nightstand. "There's one over there, too."
His gaze falls on the other picture frame, and he glides across the room. He swings the crucifix like it's a bat, knocking the picture off the nightstand and straight into the wall. Even knowing it was coming, I still flinch. I cringe at the amount of hatred he has for Luke.
This entire time, I've been silently praying that Luke will miraculously come home early. But now I'm praying he doesn't, because I'm not sure any man can withstand the person Asa is right now. He's completely irrational. He's void of compassion, of empathy. He's delusional. He's dangerous. And I'd rather get Asa out of this apartment and be forced to accompany him, than to have him here when Luke returns home.
Asa looks around the room. When he doesn't see anything else that makes him vengeful, he tosses the crucifix on the bed. "When does Luke get home?"
He knows when Luke gets home.
I could lie and say he'll be home any minute, but if Asa somehow knew our address, then he more than likely already knows our every move. He knows Luke gets home at six every night.
"Six," I say to him.
He nods. He pulls his phone out of his pocket and checks the time. "It's gonna be a long wait," he says. "What do you want to do for the next few hours?"
Wait...what?
"We're waiting for him?"
He drops down onto the bed next to me. "Of course we are, Sloan. I didn't come all this way to take back my girl and not get revenge on the bastard who stole her from me."
He somehow says all this with a smile on his face.
Once again, I swallow my fear. "We could eat lasagna. If I don't take it out of the oven in the next two minutes, it'll be inedible."
Asa leans over me and presses a kiss to my mouth, making a loud pop when he pulls back. "Fucking genius, babe." He scoots off the bed and pulls me up. "I'm starving. You can put your clothes back on if you want."
He lets go of my hands and walks into the bathroom. He leaves the door open and he watches me the whole time he stands over the toilet. I put my clothes back on, trying to stop my hands from shaking too noticeably. He flushes the toilet and walks back into the bedroom, toward the living room. "I was just kidding earlier," he says. "I don't hate your lasagna. I feel really bad for saying that, I was just really upset with you."
I walk past him and stand on my tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek. "I know, baby. We all say things we don't mean when we're angry."
I walk into the kitchen. The lasagna has been in the oven way longer than I intended for it to be, but I don't think it's burnt yet. It just won't make for very good pictures for the cookbook.
I laugh as soon as I have that thought.
Seriously? My life is in fucking danger and I'm thinking about a stupid cookbook?
I walk into the kitchen, but Asa isn't far behind me. I'm sure he's on my heels because he's not convinced I won't go for a knife. He's smart, because if he wasn't a step behind me, I'd absolutely go for one. I grab the empty boxes of ingredients strewn across the counter and toss them toward the trash, but as soon as I do, I see there's no trash bag lining the can.
That's because I took the trash out of the can.
I look at the trash bag, tied at the top, sitting next to the empty trashcan.
I look at the empty trashcan.
My pulse begins to race and I do everything I can to hide it.
I forgot the fucking trash!
Calm down, calm down, calm down. I grab an oven mitt and I pull the oven door open. I set the pan of lasagna down on top of the stove. Asa reaches over my shoulder and opens a cabinet t
o grab a couple of plates. He kisses the top of my head in the process. He grabs a spatula and cuts into the lasagna, refusing to bring a knife into the equation. The whole time he cuts at the lasagna, I'm staring at the empty trashcan.
I didn't take out the trash.
I look at my phone again.
"You aren't listening," Ryan says, bringing my attention back to him.
"I'm listening." I set my phone on the table, face up. I stare at it and pretend to be listening to Ryan, but he's right. I'm not.
"What the hell, Luke?" He snaps his fingers. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"
I shake my head. "Nothing, it's just..." I don't even want to say it out loud, because I'll sound like an idiot. The measures Sloan and I have gone to just to feel safe are ridiculous, even by my standards. "It's five after."
Ryan leans back in his seat and takes a sip of his drink. We're at some pizza joint just a few miles from my apartment, discussing what we always discuss when we meet: Asa's case. He goes to trial in a few short months and I'll be damned if we don't do everything we can to make this as cut and dry as possible. The longer he's sentenced and the more he's convicted of, the better off Sloan will be.
"It's five after what?" Ryan asks.
"Twelve o'clock. Six after, now." I look at my phone. It's 12:06 and Sloan hasn't taken out the trash yet.
Ryan leans forward. "Please elaborate, because you're really starting to piss me off with how not present you've been in our conversation."
"That guy who does daytime surveillance...Thomas...he always texts me right at noon to let me know Sloan took the trash out. She puts it outside the door every day at noon so I'll know everything is okay."
I pick up the phone and begin texting Thomas.
"Why don't you just call and check up on her?" Ryan asks, as if that's the most obvious answer.
"This is extra protection. If something happens and someone is with her, they could force her to answer the phone and pretend everything is okay. We do other things aside from phone calls for added reassurance."
Ryan stares at me a moment after I hit send on the text. I know he thinks I'm being overly paranoid right now, but surely he can't blame me. Asa is fucking psychotic and unpredictable. I'm not sure anyone could ever be too safe when it comes to him.
"That's actually pretty genius," Ryan says.
"I know," I say, getting ready to dial Sloan's number. "It was her idea. And so far, she's never missed a single day. She sets the trash out like clockwork." I bring the phone to my ear and wait while it rings. She's never not answered her phone.
I wait.
She doesn't answer her phone. Right when it goes to voicemail, I get a text from the surveillance guy.
Still waiting. Trash hasn't been taken out yet.
My fucking heart falls straight to the floor. Ryan sees it. He stands up at the same time I do. "I'll call for backup," he says, tossing money onto the table. I'm out the door before I can respond. I'm in my car. I'm cussing traffic and honking my horn and doing everything I can to get there.
Four minutes.
Four fucking excruciating minutes.
That's how long it's going to take me to get there.
I dial a number and hit send on my phone.
"Yeah?" he says.
"Is it out yet? Did she put the fucking trash out yet?" I'm trying to remain calm, but I can't.
"Not yet, man."
I beat my fist on the steering wheel. "Did anyone go through the front door today?" I'm yelling my words, no matter how hard I try to remain calm.
"No. Not since you left this morning."
"Go around back!" I yell. "Check the windows!"
He doesn't say anything.
"Now! Check the windows while I'm on the phone with you!"
He clears his throat. "You hired me for surveillance. I don't even have a gun, man. No way I'm going back there if it's got you this worried."
I grip the phone tighter in my hand and scream at him. "Are you FUCKING KIDDING ME?"
The line goes dead.
"Fucking son of a bitch!"
I slam on the gas and power through a red light. I'm two blocks away now. I'm almost through the intersection when it happens.
My whole body jerks with the impact. I saw the eighteen-wheeler out of the corner of my eye, and then I didn't. My airbag deploys. My car begins spinning. I know it's all happening faster than anyone witnessing it can possibly even comprehend, but the crash goes in slow motion for me.
It drags. On and on and fucking on.
By the time my car comes to a stop, the blood is already rushing into my eye. I hear horns and people yelling. I reach down for my seatbelt, but I can't move my right arm. It's broken.
I get my seatbelt unbuckled with my left arm. I press my shoulder into the driver's side door and push it open.
I wipe the blood off my forehead.
"Sir!" a man yells from behind me. "Sir, you need to stay in the car!"
Someone grabs my shoulder and tries to stop me. "Get off me!" I yell. I try to regain my bearings long enough to see which direction I'm facing. I catch sight of the convenience store on my right. I turn left and I push through the crowd beginning to form around my car. People are yelling at me to stop running, but I can't run fast enough.
Two blocks.
I can do that in less than a minute.
The entire time I'm sprinting toward my apartment, I make excuses for why she's not answering the phone. I pray I'm wrong, that I'm overreacting. But I know Sloan. Something is wrong. She wouldn't not answer her phone.
She wouldn't not take the trash out right at twelve.
Something is wrong.
When I finally reach the complex, I'm not in a vehicle, so the sensor on the fucking gate doesn't open for me. I look around for a door to walk through, but it's locked. I back up several feet and then sprint for the gate, somehow pulling myself over with my good arm. I don't land on my feet. I land on my right fucking shoulder and the pain shoots through me like a bolt of lightning. It knocks the breath out of me. I'm forced to take a second until I can take in air again. Then I'm back on my feet.
I see Thomas, the surveillance guy. He's standing outside of his car. When he sees me, his eyes widen at the sight of me, and then he throws his hands up. "I'm sorry, man, I was about to go check on her." He backs up and I can't help myself. I punch him right in the throat with my good hand. I keep walking as he falls against his car door.
"Stupid fuck!" I yell over my shoulder. I sprint toward the apartment and go straight past the front door, around the side of the building, to the wall our living room and bedroom windows line. I run up to the living room window and it takes all I have not to scream out her name when I see the lock on the inside of the window.
It's unlatched.
I know instantly how it happened. The maintenance guy. It's my own fucking fault. I should have been a step ahead of Asa. I don't give myself time to think over it. I press my back against the wall next to the window and I try to listen.
I reach down to my side and I pull out my gun. I close my eyes and inhale.
I hear voices.
I hear Sloan's voice. I want to cry a river knowing I'm not too late, but I'll do that later. Right now, I inch over toward the window and try to peek inside. I can barely see anything because of the curtains.
Fuck.
My pulse is pounding. I can hear sirens in the distance and I have no idea if they're coming here because Ryan called them or if they're going to the wreck I just caused at the intersection. Either way, if I don't do something in the next five seconds, whoever is inside this apartment will hear them.
And they'll be forced to take action.
I drop to my knees and hold the gun in my left hand while I inch the window open with my right. I peek inside and I can see Sloan. I can also see someone else. His back is to the window. He laughs.
He fucking laughs, and I know instantly that it's him. He's in there with Sloan. He hasn't hurt her
yet. She's standing in the kitchen.
If he hears the sirens, he will hurt her. He'll panic and he'll do something stupid. I don't know how she has him this calm, but it doesn't surprise me. My Sloan is smart as fuck.
I raise the window another inch. For half a second, Sloan makes eye contact with me.
Half a second.
A glance.
She drops her fork and I know she does it on purpose. The second she does it, she says, "Shit!" She bends over to pick it up. I raise the window a little higher as Asa is scooting back in the barstool. He's walking around the bar for whatever reason. To make sure she's not trying something? I lift my gun, barely able to grip the trigger with my right hand.
He takes the fork from her and tosses it in the sink and then hands her a new one. Right after she grabs it, she falls to the floor and screams, "Now!"
Before Asa can even comprehend what's happening, I pull the trigger. I don't even wait to see where it hit him. I push the window up and climb inside, running across our living room until I get to her. She's crawling around the bar, toward me.
"Again!" she yells in desperation. "Please, Luke! Shoot him again!"
Asa is lying on the floor with his hand against his neck. Blood is rushing through his fingers, spilling down his arm. His chest is heaving up and down as he struggles to drag in breath. I aim the gun at him.
His eyes are wide and he glances around, looking for Sloan.
She's standing behind me now, gripping the back of my shirt in fear. His eyes land on her. "Fucking whore," he manages to mutter. "I lied. I hate your fucking lasagna."
I pull the trigger.
Sloan screams and buries her face against my back.
I turn around and pull her against me. She's crying, holding on to me with all the strength she has.
I can't stand up anymore.
I grip the bar and lower us both to the floor. I pull her onto my lap and she curls up against me. I try to ignore the pain in my arm as I hold her. I press my face into her hair and I breathe her in. "Are you okay?"
She's sobbing, but she manages to nod.
"Are you hurt?" I'm trying to inspect her, but she looks okay. I put my hand on her stomach and I close my eyes and exhale. "I'm so sorry, Sloan. I'm so sorry." I feel like I failed her. I did everything I could to protect her and he somehow still got to her.
Too Late Page 33