Page 3 of Slaying for Sloan

I’m fucking embarrassed.Sheembarrassed me.

I reach my car, a sleek, black Mercedes-Benz S-Class, its polished exterior glimmering under the sparse streetlights, reflecting my status in this town. As the pastor’s son, I’m someone people look up to, the embodiment of my family’s values and the town’s church. I love this life, the power it gives me, and the money that flows easily into my hands.

I lean against the car, trying to catch my breath and calm the storm brewing inside me. I need to get my head straight before I go back to the cabin. She’s hurt, but she needs to understand—this is bigger than us. If she wants to be a part of my life, then she needs to meet their expectationsandmine.

The streets are eerily quiet, the only sound the whisper of the wind and the soft crunch of snow underfoot. The town is empty at this time of night, not a soul walking the streets, and the cold seeps into my bones as snowflakes drift down from the dark sky. The sound of laughter and chatter from a nearby café echoes faintly in the background.

At least someone is having a good night.

I take a deep breath, inhaling the cold, crisp air. I can feel my phone buzzing in my pocket, and the vibrations are fucking annoying. Like a constant reminder of all the bullshit that happened tonight and all the cleaning up I’ll have to do. It’s probably Sloan reaching out and trying to understand what just happened. But she can wait. She needs to learn and understand that in my world, a wife doesn’t get to question her husband without repercussions. That as the man in our relationship, I’ll answer her when I’m good and fucking ready.

She needs to learn her place.

Something shifts in the shadows. Before I can react, I’m blindsided. The ground rushes up to meet me; the wind is knocked out of my lungs as I crash onto the snow-covered pavement. I struggle to catch my breath, but the blows keep coming, fists raining down on me fast and hard. I can barely make sense of it all—just pain and confusion as I try to defend myself. I look up, and my vision clears just enough to see the face of my twin brother, Asher.

Asher is tall—6’3”, towering over me, with dark hair that falls into his eyes and tattoos snaking down his arms, each telling a story of rebellion and turmoil. As always, he’s dressed in black,a uniform of defiance against everything our family stands for. The last time I saw him, he was a troubled teenager acting out in ways I never understood. My chest tightens with confusion and anger as I take in the sight of him.

What the fuck is he doing here?

“Asher? What the hell are you doing?” I gasp, wincing as he kicks me in the ribs.

Asher is the family’s best-kept secret. The son that our parents made disappear to protect their image. The black sheep, the one who always fought against our parents’ expectations. They tried to help him, but he just wouldn’t let them, and the harder they tried, the harder he fought back. The last I heard, they sent him away to some program, hoping it would fix him, but it only pushed him further into darkness.

After that, they acted like he never existed, like he was just a ghost haunting the halls of our family home. They took down every photo and donated every single one of his belongings. They erased him from our lives like he was nothing, and all the pressure and expectations fell onto me. I had to be the perfect son, the perfect everything, all because he was too weak.

And now, here he is. The specter of everything I wanted to forget.

“Hello, twin. Didn’t think you’d find me lurking out here, did you? I’ve been watching you, and your pathetic life is almost laughable. You’re no better than them—spouting God’s word while leaving their own son to fend for himself. What do you think God would say about that, huh?” His tone drips with mockery, each word a sharp dagger.

The anger boils within me, a seething fury I can barely contain. Deep down, I know he’s right, and that infuriates me even more. I’ve played their twisted game for far too long, never daring to stand up for him because I was terrified of ending up shamed and treated like Asher. He’s always struggled—whetherit’s a mental disability or just his chaotic wiring doesn’t matter to me anymore. Instead of helping him, they punished him, shamed him, and I just watched, too cowardly to risk my own place in their precious world.

Because why would I? He never did shit for me. I didn’t owe him anything then, and I sure as fuck don’t now.

Their scorn echoes in my mind, a relentless reminder of the brother I lost to their impossible expectations. They always looked at him like he was too much of everything—too loud, too angry, too wild—and I hated him for it. I never wanted to be anything like him, so I played the part of the perfect son, bending to their will and molding myself into their ideal. Now, I’m left here, reaping the consequences of his refusal to fall in line.

I can’t believe he’s standing in front of me now, a dark cloud looming over everything. “What the hell do you want, Asher?” I snap, my voice dripping with contempt, desperate to reclaim some semblance of control in this twisted moment.

“I want to know how it feels to watch you fall apart,” he growls, leaning over me, the tension in the air thickening. “You think you’re living the dream, huh? You’re a puppet on strings, dancing for their approval.”

“Shut up,” I manage to spit out, but it comes out weak, pathetic. I’m sprawled on the ground, unable to move. The world around me fades as I focus on the anger radiating off him.

He looms over me, eyes blazing with an intensity that scares me. “You do haveonegood thing, though. But, I’ll treat her better than you ever could. She deserves so much more than a cowardly little bitch boy like you. It’s laughable, honestly; you’ve had it all, Alex, and you still can’t fucking get it right.” He leans down, close enough for me to see the darkness in his gaze. “Maybe this Christmas, I can thank you for the early gift you gave me—the gift of showing me how family treats family.”

My heart races, panic clawing at my insides. “You don’t know anything about family. All you know is how to take from and use people,” I hiss, trying to push myself up, but my body feels heavy, like lead.

Asher’s hand slides into his pocket, and dread washes over me as I realize what he’s pulling out—a knife glinting in the dim light. “What the fuck are you doing?” I shout, panic rising in my chest. “Asher, come on. You’re not going to fucking kill me, cut the shit!”

But he just grins, a twisted smile that sends chills down my spine. “I think it’s time for you to know what it feels like to be discarded. Just like you did to me and just like you would’ve done to her.”

“Stop!” I plead, fear pooling in my stomach. “We can talk. We can fix this, Asher. You’re my fucking brother. Let’s be logical, please.”

“Fix it?” he cackles, the sound echoing in the night, mocking and cruel. “You think there’s anything to fix? You’re just like Mom and Dad—so afraid of what I am that you’d rather pretend I don’t exist.”

My mind races, flashing back to our childhood. I see the two of us in the backyard, the summer sun shining down on our laughter as we play. Asher is there, his eyes bright and wild as he climbs the tallest tree in our yard, daring me to follow. I want to be just like him—to be brave and free—but I can’t shake the weight of our parents’ expectations. I’ve always been the one who follows the rules, who colors within the lines while he’s always scribbled outside them, a chaotic masterpiece that nobody, not even God could ever control.

The memories hit me like a wave—how they sat me down just before starting high school, their faces drawn and serious, as they explained that Asher had to go away. They called it “help,” but I felt it in my bones that they were giving up on him and tiredof his chaos. I was old enough to know people around the town were talking. He was causing problems for our family and for the church, so I knew they had no other choice but to send him away.

As I grew older, I started to see Asher for what he really was—a user. He took and took from our parents, never giving back. I remember nights spent lying awake, listening to their muffled arguments about him, their anger palpable through the walls. They wanted to help him, but nothing they did helped. Shit, if anything, he just got worse.

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