by C. Hoover
Not a minute later, I hear her making a mess of the bedroom. Stuff falling to the floor. Her feet moving from one side of the room to the other. I stare up at the ceiling, wondering what the fuck she’s doing. My head hurts too bad to go up and look for myself.I don’t have to, because a few seconds later, she’s storming down the stairs.
When she rounds the corner to the kitchen, my dick twitches in my pants. She’s angry as hell and it’s hot as fuck. I smile at her as she marches toward me.
Before I can even get a word out, she’s in my face. She shoves a finger in my chest. “Where is the paperwork, Asa?”
Paperwork?
What the fuck is she talking about?
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
Her chest is heaving, and if she would just step a few inches closer, I would be able to feel it.”My brother’s file!” she says. “Where is it, Asa?”
Oh. That paperwork.
I carefully place the bowl of spaghetti on the counter and then bring my arms up and fold them over my chest. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Sloan.”
She inhales a meticulous breath, exhales it with even more precision, and then spins around. She puts her hands on her hips, trying to find the strength to remain calm.
I knew if she ever found out what I did, she’d be pissed. Even so, I’ve never really given much thought as to how I’d talk my way out of it.
“Two years,” she says, gritting her teeth. She spins back around and her eyes are full of tears.
Well, shit. I didn’t mean to make her cry.
“For two years I thought you were paying for his care. You showed me the paperwork, Asa. The letters the state sent. The check stubs.” She begins pacing back and forth. “The social worker thought I was an idiot today when I asked her if his benefits could ever be renewed. Do you know what she said to me, Asa?” She faces me again.
I shrug.
She takes a step forward, folding her arms over her chest. “She said, ‘The benefits were never cancelled, Sloan. Stephen’s care has never been private pay.’”
Tears are streaming down her cheeks now. For the first time since she walked down here, I start to get a little uncomfortable that maybe I took it too far with this lie. She’s angrier than I’ve ever seen her.
She can’t leave me.
“Sloan.” I take a step forward and put my hands on her shoulders. “Baby, listen. I had to do whatever I could to get you back. You left me. I’m sorry you’re upset.” I move my hands to her cheeks. “You shouldn’t be mad about this, though. It took a lot of fucking effort and money on my part. If anything, you should be flattered that you’re that important to me.”
Her hands come up between mine and she pushes me away from her. “You fucking asshole!” she yells. “You forged an entire file to back up your lies, Asa! Monthly letters from the government! Who the fuck does that?”
She has no idea how much money I had to pay the fucker who sends those or she’d be thanking me right now.
She points at me from across the kitchen. “You trapped me. This whole time you made me think there was no way out.”
I swallow the anger down. I take a step forward. Did I really just hear her right?
“I trapped you?”
She’s so worked up, she’s inhaling small gasps of breath. She wipes angrily at her tears and nods, lowering her voice. “Yes, Asa. You trapped me. I’ve been your fucking prisoner for the last two years, thinking my brother was about to have to go back to my worthless mother. All because you knew if you didn’t have that to hold over my head, I would have left you.”
She doesn’t mean what she’s saying. She’s angry. She would never leave me. Yes, I lied to her. Yes, I paid a shit ton of money to make it look like her brother’s benefits were cancelled. But it was a temporary fix. She would have come crawling back to me eventually if it weren’t for that. I just made it easier on her.
“Is that what you think? That you’ve been a prisoner here?” I ask. “Do I not give you a place to sleep? Buy your groceries? Give you nice things? Allow you to go to college? Drive my cars?” I walk across the kitchen and don’t slow down when I reach her. I walk her backward until she’s pressed against the wall, my hands caging her in. “Don’t you dare stand here—in my home—and imply that you didn’t have every opportunity in the world to walk out that fucking door.”
I push off the wall and point toward the living room. “Go. If you don’t love me anymore, fucking leave!”
She would never leave. I know this, because if she left, that would mean she’s been using me for my money these last two years. Using me as a sole means to support her goddamn waste-of-space brother. If that’s the case, that would make her a whore by definition.
And I’m not marrying a fucking whore.
Sloan glances at the door and then looks back at me. She shakes her head, and I swear she smiles. “Goodbye, Asa. Enjoy your life.”
She begins walking toward the front door. “I do enjoy my life, Sloan. I enjoy it a whole fucking bunch!”
I allow her to reach the front door before I walk after her. She’s not even to the grass before I have my arm wrapped around her waist, my hand over her mouth. I turn her around and walk her back into the goddamn house she’s so ungrateful for. I carry her straight up to the bedroom and kick open the door. I toss her onto the bed and she tries to scoot off and run around me.
How cute.
I grab her by the hair and swing her back to the bed. She screams, but I put a stop to that with my hand. I climb on top of her, covering her mouth with one hand and holding her wrists down with the other. There’s not much I can do about her legs as she does her best to kick her way out from under me, but I have more strength in one finger than she does in her entire body. It feels more like she’s tickling me than attempting to hurt me.
“Listen up, babe,” I whisper, staring down at her. “If you try to insinuate that you don’t love me, I’m going to be really upset. Really fucking upset. Because that would mean you’ve been pretending with me since the day you walked back through my door. That would mean you’ve been faking every orgasm, every kiss, every word you’ve ever spoken to me—simply for a monthly check. And if that were true, that would make you a whore, Sloan. Do you know what men like me do to whores?”
Her eyes are wide with fear. Hopefully that means I’m getting through to her. She’s no longer attempting to kick her way out from under me, so that’s a good sign.
“That was a question, babe. Do you know what men like me do to whores?”
A tear falls out of her eye as she shakes her head. I can feel the breath from her nostrils slamming against my hand; she’s struggling so hard for more air.
I lower my mouth to her ear. “Please don’t make me show you.”
We lie like this for a few more moments, while I make sure my words are sinking in. I pull back and look down at her. Her expression hasn’t changed, but now she’s crying so hard against my hand, snot is coming from her nose. It’s on my fucking hand now. I pull it away from her mouth and wipe it on the bed. Then I grab the sleeve of my shirt and I wipe her face clean.
Her lips are quivering. I don’t know why I’ve never noticed how fucking attractive that is. I kiss her softly, closing my eyes while her lips tremble against mine. “Do you love me?” I carefully whisper the words against her mouth. “Or are you a whore?”
A shaky breath passes her lips. “I love you,” she whispers. “I’m sorry. I was just upset, Asa. I don’t like it when you lie to me.”
I press my forehead to the side of her head and exhale. In a way, she’s right. I probably should have never lied to her about her brother. But if she had been in my shoes, she’d have done the same thing.
“Don’t ever get angry like that with me again, Sloan.” I pull back and brush her hair out of her face. It’s sweaty and sticks to my hand. I run my fingers through it, smoothing it out with the rest of her hair. ”I don’t like what it does to me,” I sa
y quietly. “What it makes me want to have to do to you.”
She nods. “I don’t like it, either,” she says.
Her eyes are full of regret, but I don’t feel bad. It’s her own fault for coming at me like she did. At least that’s out of the way, though. It was becoming tedious to keep up with that lie for so long, I was starting to get sloppy with it.
I release her wrists and bring my hand to her face, running the backs of my knuckles across her cheek. “Should we kiss and make up now?”
She nods, and when I press my lips to hers, I exhale with relief. Because for a split second when she was walking toward the front door, I thought maybe she was serious about leaving. I thought maybe I would never get to taste her like this again.
I’m relieved it was an empty threat. I don’t know what I’d do if I ever found out she didn’t actually love me. She’s the only one who does.
She turns her head to the side and gives me access to her neck. As I kiss my way down her body, she begins to relax.
When I finally have all her clothes off, she spreads her legs for me. I press against her. “Do you love me, Sloan?”
She nods, then says, “Yes, Asa. I love you.”
My tongue dives into her mouth at the same time my dick dives inside her.
Inside her—where I’m the only man who has ever been. Where I’m the only man who’ll ever be.
“You’re mine, Sloan,” I whisper, fucking her just like she likes to be fucked. She grips my arms and squeezes her eyes shut.
She feels it so deeply; she cries the whole time.
I close my eyes and allow the spray of water to beat down on my face.
What was I thinking?
Confronting him alone? Not warning Carter what was about to go down? That was really dumb.
But in my defense, it’s hard to think when you’re in a blind rage.
After I left my doctor’s appointment this morning, I got the call from the social worker. I had been driving toward campus, and when she revealed that my brother’s care wasn’t private pay, I lost it. Completely lost it. I turned the car around and drove straight to my brother’s facility to meet with her. By the time I left, I had never been that angry.
The only thing I could think about was Asa and how I wanted to kill him. Rage really does blind you. When I walked into the kitchen to confront him, I didn’t care that he could hurt me. I just wanted to know if it was true—if he’d somehow been sending me forged letters from the government. I didn’t want to believe it, because believing it would mean he is certifiably insane. But the only type of person who could invent a lie like that and keep it up for two years has to be certifiably insane.
I remember the day he brought over my mail after we broke up the first time. The benefits letter was on top. After I read the letter, I was devastated. The bastard actually comforted me—told me if I ever needed anything, he’d help me in a heartbeat. He said, “That’s what you do for the people you love, Sloan. You help them.”
That was back when I believed he actually loved me and it was a heartfelt gesture. Now I think it’s more of a psychotic obsession.
I had nowhere else to go, and thanks to what I thought was about to happen to Stephen, I ended up being forced to ask Asa for help. It was a last resort, for sure. Hell, I even called the number on the form that day to see if I had any other options. Now I realize it was obviously a fake number with one of Asa’s friends on the other line, but I didn’t realize it at the time.
The hot water mixes with the tears that are now streaking down my cheeks.
How could I have fallen for it for so long? All the pieces are still coming together, right down to why he only lets me use his car on Sundays to go visit Stephen.
The social worker doesn’t work on Sundays. There would be no chance I’d ever run into her and strike up a conversation about his benefits.
I still can’t wrap my mind around it and it’s been hours since I found out. I try to tell myself it took me so long to find out the truth because I had no reason to think he would do something like that. But I had every reason.
That’s what Asa does.
He’s a liar. A cheat. He sabotages people. He sets people up.
I’m so angry with myself right now, I scrub my body even harder, wanting to get his smell off me. I’m scrubbing my neck when the shower curtain flies open. I gasp and move so that my back is against the wall and I can better fight him off if it comes down to that.
Asa is standing in front of me, completely dressed now, in dark blue jeans and a crisp, white t-shirt. It makes the tattoos on his arms look brighter—angrier. But his expression isn’t angry right now. He looks confused.
And he’s actually staring at my face and not my breasts.
“Do you think it’s weird that no one really comes over here anymore?” he asks.
His thoughts are becoming more and more unpredictable. I blow out a breath and turn my back to the water, rinsing the conditioner out of my hair. “I’m not sure what you mean, Asa.”
When the conditioner is rinsed from my hair, I glance over at him. He’s staring down at the tub, at the water circling the drain. “There used to be so many people here, all day every day, all night. Now it’s just like four or five people, unless I have a party.”
It’s because you’re unpredictable and you fucking scare people, Asa.
“Maybe they’re all just busy?”
His eyes flick up to mine. They’re still full of confusion. A little disappointment. I don’t know a lot about drugs, or what it’s like coming down from them, but paranoia may be a withdrawal symptom. I hope so, because otherwise, I’m not sure what to make of this version of Asa.
“Yeah,” he says. “Maybe they’re just busy. Or they aren’t and they just want me to think they are. Because everyone fucking pretends around here.”
His words are harsh, but his voice is calm, still with a hint of confusion. I’m praying he’s not referring to Carter when he says everyone pretends. Or referring to me.I need to warn Carter. Something just isn’t right with him today. I’ve never been scared for my life like I was when Asa pulled me back inside the house. I’m tempted to not tell Carter about what happened because I know he’ll be upset that I confronted him alone.
“We should invite a few people over for dinner tonight. Will you cook?”
I nod. “For how many people?”
He doesn’t even hesitate with the answer he spits out. “Me, you, Jon, Dalton, Kevin and Carter. I want the food ready at seven o’clock. I’ll text them now.”
He closes the shower curtain.
What the hell is wrong with him?
I blow out a steady breath and grab the washcloth. I’m scrubbing the heels of my feet when he opens the shower curtain again. When I look into his eyes, he’s still shockingly looking at my face and nothing else. He opens his mouth, closes it, and then pauses for two seconds before, “Are you mad at me, Sloan?”
Is that a trick question?
I fucking loathe you, Asa.
I gauge his expression and then reply with, “I’m not very happy with you.”
He sighs, and then nods like he doesn’t blame me. Now I really know something is wrong with him. “I shouldn’t have lied to you about your brother’s benefits. Sometimes I think I could treat you better than I do.”
I swallow the lump in my throat. “Then why don’t you?”
His eyes narrow with a slight tilt of his head, like he’s actually contemplating my question. “I don’t know how.”
He closes the shower curtain.
The bathroom door slams shut.
My arm clenches my stomach, because I feel like I might puke. Everything he does makes me so nervous to be around him. After that weird conversation, it’s increased tenfold.
Thank God he’s inviting everyone over tonight, because I really don’t want to be alone with him. I need Carter to be here.
I’m about to turn off the water when the bathroom door reopens. Seconds later,
the shower curtain opens from the opposite end this time. My hand freezes on the knob when I hear him step inside the shower.
No, no, no. Please don’t make me have sex with you again. I breathe in calmly through my nose, hoping he’s just waiting for his turn in the shower.
A few seconds pass, but I don’t feel him step up behind me. He doesn’t say anything. My heart is beating so fast, I get lightheaded.
I straighten up and slowly turn around. His white t-shirt is soaked through and he still has his jeans on. He’s leaning against the back wall of the shower, barefoot, staring down at the tub.
I wait a moment to see what he wants. When he fails to move or speak—he just keeps staring at nothing—I finally speak up.
The fear cracks the sound of my voice when I say, “What are you doing, Asa?”
My question breaks him out of his trance. His eyes flick up to mine. He stares for approximately five painstakingly long seconds, and then he looks around the shower and back down at his clothes. He runs his hands over them like he has no idea why they’re wet. He shakes his head and says, “I don’t fucking know.”
My knees grow weak at his reaction. I don’t even turn off the water. I step out of the shower as fast as I can and grab a towel. I don’t even bother getting dressed before swinging open the door to run to the bedroom. I just need to stay as far away from him as I can until Carter gets here and I know I’ll be a little safer.
As soon as I step out into the hallway, something to my right catches my eye. I look over and see Jon about to walk into the bedroom at the end of the hall. His hand is on the door and he’s staring at me—his eyes scrolling down my towel-covered body.
When I see the disgusting grin stretch across his face, I walk the three feet to my bedroom door. “Don’t even think about it you piece of fucking shit.” I slam the bedroom door and lock myself away from every last one of these crazy assholes. I walk to my phone and I text Carter.
Sloan: He’s losing his mind. Please show up early.
I delete the text and wait for the sound of the shower to cut off.
