Page 113 of Too Late

I grip the phone tighter in my hand and scream at him. “Are youfucking 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 entire 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, hewillhurt 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. 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 hits 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.

---