Too Late

Fuck. Good question.

I start to walk to the door, but the anticipation of coconut cake is ripped from me when I hear sirens. The sound is far off-maybe four or five streets over.

I still have time. If there was a fucking window in this bedroom, I could grab Sloan, shoot Luke and be out the window and to the car before they get here.

But motherfucking Dalton is standing in my way.

If he’s standing at the door holding a cake, that means he’s probably right…about…there.

I aim my gun and as soon as I fire it, something hard meets my back. I fall forward, my knees hit the floor and the gun flies out of my hands. I look behind me and Luke is standing over me, pulling his leg back to kick me in the face. I roll to the side and swipe my leg across the floor, knocking him off balance. He lands on his back.

He immediately starts trying to pull his legs through his arms so his hands will be cuffed in front of him rather than behind him. I sit up and reach for my gun, but Sloan jumps off the bed and lunges across the floor. Our hands reach the gun at the same time, but mine are more experienced and know where to grab it to get the better grip. Her hands fumble around mine until she’s aware that the gun is firmly planted back in my hand. I shove her away from me, back in the goddamn corner.

She hits the wall and scoots as far away from me as she can. By the time I get the gun pointed at Luke, the fucker somehow got his hands around to his front. He’s pulling himself to his feet, so I stay a step ahead and pull the fucking trigger. I watch as the flesh of his thigh explodes into tiny pieces.

Fuck, that looks like it hurt.

He’s on his knees.

His back slams against the wall. He’s wincing, pressing his hands against his wound. Dalton is beating on the door now. “Asa, open the fucking door or I’m shooting it open! Three…two…”

“If you open that door, they’re both dead!” I yell.

Dalton never makes it to one.

I look at Sloan and she’s huddled against the wall, hands over her ears, tears pouring out of her eyes. She’s staring at Luke, looking like she’s about to flip the fuck out. I need to get her out of here before she does. But the sirens are closer now. More than likely on this street.

Fuck.

Think, Asa. Think.

I smack my gun against my forehead three times. I can’t lose her. I can’t. If I’m arrested, I won’t be able to protect her. I won’t be able to touch her. She’ll fall for someone else’s lies. Maybe even Luke’s again.

She’s the only person who has ever loved me. I can’t lose her. I can’t.

I crawl over to her and try to grab her hands, but she keeps pulling away from me. I have to point the damn gun at her head just to get her to be still. I press my forehead to the side of her head. “Tell me you love me, Sloan.” She’s shaking so hard, she can’t even speak. “Please, baby. I need to hear you say it.”

She tries three times to get her voice to work, but she keeps stuttering. Her lips are trembling harder than I’ve ever seen. She finally gets out one sentence. “Let Luke go and I’ll say it.”

I squeeze my hand around the gun. I wrap my other hand in her hair and squeeze. She’s trying to fucking negotiate for him?

I blow out a steady breath through my nostrils. My jaw is wound up too tight to let any air through my mouth. When I calm myself enough to speak, I grit my teeth and whisper, “You love me, right? You don’t love him. You love me.”

I pull back and meet her petrified eyes. She lifts her chin and says, “I’ll answer that after you let him go. He needs a doctor, Asa.”

A doctor? He doesn’t need a doctor. He needs a mother fucking miracle.

“I don’t need you to answer that,” I say to her. “I have a feeling if I kill him, I’ll be able to tell if you love him based on your reaction.”

Her eyes widen and she immediately begins shaking her head. “I don’t,” she blurts out. “Please don’t kill him, it’ll make things worse for you. I love you, Asa. Please don’t kill anyone else.”

I’m staring right at her, looking back and forth between her eyes. It’s hard to see any truth there, because all I see is the concern she has for Luke written across her face. “Don’t worry, Sloan. He’s probably wearing a bullet-proof vest.”

I turn my head and lift my gun, aiming it straight at Luke’s chest. I fire the shot. Luke’s whole body jerks against the wall. His hands go to his chest just as the blood begins pouring through his fingers. He immediately falls limp onto his side.

“Oh. My bad. I was wrong.”

Sloan is screaming. Screaming his fucking name, screaming no, screaming what have you done, screaming his name again, screaming, screaming, screaming.