Page 81 of Too Late

His eyes meet the gun that’s pointed straight at him now, but for some reason, he still doesn’t shut the fuck up.

“Did you know he was diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia when he was only twenty-seven? I read it in his file. He never took his meds, Asa, not even once. The things going on inside your head—they can stop. It can all stop. You don’t have to be like him.”

I stride across the room and press the fucking gun to his head. “I’mnotlike him! I’mnothinglike him!”

Before I can pull the trigger, Dalton beats on the door.

“How am I supposed to give you the cake?” Dalton yells.

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 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 evenLuke’sagain.

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 fuckingnegotiatefor 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 loveme.”

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 adoctor. He needs a motherfucking 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.”

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