Too Late(29)

“In our bedroom,” I say, wanting him to know that Asa is right here in the house. I don’t mention that he’s passed out and probably won’t wake up for several hours.



It’s funny how things work sometimes. I fear Asa more than anyone-but Asa is also my only protection against people in this house.



Jon glances up at the ceiling. “He asleep?”



I shake my head. “No,” I say. “I came down to make him something to drink.”



I can see in his eyes that he knows I’m lying. He knows I’m only trying to protect myself. He takes another step forward until he reaches me. Something changes in his expression. I see the sinister look in his eyes—the hatred—and I open my mouth to scream. I want to yell for Carter to come back inside. I want to yell for Asa to come downstairs. But I can’t, because Jon’s hand clamps around my throat, stifling my voice.



“You want to know what I’m sick of?” he asks, glaring at me as he squeezes his hand tigheter. My eyes are wide, but I’m unable to nod or shake my head. My hands are gripping at his hand around my throat as I try to pull it away from me.



“I’m sick of Asa getting everything he wants,” he says. “And not letting me have shit.”



I squeeze my eyes shut. Someone will walk in soon. Carter, Dalton-someone will stop this.



Just as that thought passes through my mind, the backdoor opens and relief washes over me. I open my eyes and Jon spins around, his hand still gripping my throat.



My wide eyes meet Kevin’s eyes. He pauses in the doorway, staring at us. I barely know him because he’s not here at the house much, but I don’t care. He’s here and Jon just got busted. He’ll be forced to release me.



“Get the fuck out of here,” Jon growls at Kevin.



Kevin takes in the scene. Jon pressed against me, one of his hands gripping my hips, the other around my throat, the fear in my expression. I try to shake my head to silently beg Kevin not to walk away, but he misreads the situation, because he laughs. Or…maybe he doesn’t misread it. Maybe he doesn’t care. Maybe he’s just as sick as Jon. Kevin holds up his hands and says, “My bad, man,” and steps back outside.



What the fuck?



Jon spins me around and pushes me toward the living room, out of the kitchen. I try to scream, but nothing comes out. His hand is still clamped around my throat.



The living room is dark and empty and I try to fight my way out of his grip, but I’m getting weaker by the second with every drop of air he’s refusing to let me inhale. I can feel the panic set in, but I force it back down. I can’t lose control of myself right now.



He pushes me onto the couch and as soon as he releases his grip around my throat, I drag in gasp after gasp of air, coughing and sputtering until I have enough air in my lungs to scream. But before I’m able to do that, something cold is placed against my throat. Something sharp.



Oh, God.



I squeeze my eyes shut as soon as Jon’s other hand begins to push my knees apart. I have never felt terror like I feel right now. I’ve been in dangerous situations before-usually at the hands of Asa. But I’ve never feared for my life at the hands of Asa.



Jon is different. Jon would hurt me just to punish Asa.





His hand runs up my thigh and settles between my legs. I can feel my legs shaking from the fear that’s overtaking my entire body.





“Asa thinks everyone else’s girls are fair game, but he’s the only one who gets a piece of this?” He lowers his mouth to my ear. “He owes me a few favors, Sloan. And I need you to repay one right now.”





“Jon,” I choke out. “Please stop. Please.”





He brings his mouth to mine. “Say please again,” he whispers.





“Please,” I plead one more time.





“I like it when you beg.” His mouth crashes against mine and I immediately taste bile as it makes its way up my throat. There’s nothing gentle about his mouth as his tongue forces its way past my lips. The more I try to fight to free myself, the harder he presses the blade against my throat.





Through all the fear and all the struggling, I’m somehow still able to hear the quiet click of a gun.





Jon freezes on top of me and when I open my eyes, I see the metal tip of a gun pressed against his temple.





“Get the fuck away from her,” Carter says.





Oh, God. Thank you, Carter. Thank you, thank you, thank you.





Jon’s hand slowly leaves my throat. He presses it against the back of the couch. “You’re gonna regret this,” he says to Carter.