Page 29 of Carter

I say, “And now that I’m at the end, I’m scared I won’t be able to live within them. I’ve committed, I’ve told Carter I’m all in. Now I just need you to tell me how to do it.”

Mary sets down her spoon. “First, stop trying to become me. If you get so good at being what Carter wants that you stop being Sasha, then Carter is doing it wrong. Submission is not a personality transplant, honey. He chose your fire. The point is learning when to trust him with it—not putting it out.”

She opens her mouth to answer me, but we’re interrupted by the sound of the front door opening. We both freeze.

Damn, he’s home early. I cringe as John’s voice calls, “Honey, I’m home.”

Mary’s eyes widen. She’s not expecting him for at least another hour. I am not supposed to be here. She’s breaking a rule, helping me.

He’s in the doorframe of the kitchen before I can think to move. Run. Hide.

His left brow raises in a high arch. He says my name like an accusation. “Sasha.” His gaze turns to Mary. I see a blush rise in her cheeks. My stomach twists in knots. I look at that red spatula-paddle, sitting on the counter.

I stand from my chair. I say, “I was just leaving. I needed some advice and I’m afraid I snuck into the Village. I must have scared Mary half to death when I came popping up in her backyard.”

He looks to Mary.

“I wasn’t expecting her,” she says. “But I’m glad she came,” she adds, a firmness in her tone.

She gives John a long, hard look. Something unspoken passes between the two of them. He gives a nod.

Mary smiles. I think—I hope—that means she’s off the hook.

His attention turns toward me. “Let me take you home,” he says.

My knotted stomach clenches. I’m not sure I’m ready for a Bachman lecture right now. It’s been an emotional evening. I inch toward the door, saying, “I can find my own way back to the hotel, thanks.”

John thinks not.

His car keys are in his hands—the only Bachman who’s refused a driver. He loves navigating the city streets. He loves the control of it. He twirls the keyring round on his fingers. They clank quietly as they spin. His eyes lock on mine. “Alright then, I’ll just give Carter a call, so he knows you’re on the way.” His brow raises once more.

He knows Carter doesn’t know I’m here. He knows what will happen if he finds out.

I could lose everything I’m trying to rebuild with Carter. “You know what… would you mind giving me a ride? I hate to inconvenience you, but I’d love one. I hear you have a new car. I’d like to check it out.”

John, a lover of fine automobiles, says, “Yes. You really should see it.”

He steps over to me. He holds his arm out to me. He’s going to escort me. Ensure I don’t run off. I link my arm in his, shooting a farewell look to Mary. She pats my free arm, kissing my cheek softly. I get another whiff of her homey scent.

Making me yearn for home.

Only one more night in the hotel. I hope. If I survive the ride.

John sees me out to the sleek black car. Lucky for me their house is not in view of Carter’s. He opens my door for me. Closes it firmly behind me. I watch him as he walks around the car. The headlights had turned on when he first unlocked the door, and I can see him clearly. He’s a powerful man. He works in local politics, ruling from the inside out to be sure the Village stays safe from prying eyes.

He wears a charcoal gray suit and a crisp white button-down. The sleeves are rolled to the elbows. A heavy silver watch circles his wrist.

He slides into the driver seat.

He gives me a glance out of the corner of his eye. One that tells me Carter and Bronson aren’t the only Bachman men who’ve become annoyed by my antics.

He turns the key and the engine roars to life. He pulls away from the curb, fast. I fly back, pressing into my seat.

He gives me another one of those glances.

I shift in my seat. I tug at my hair.

He snaps, “Stop.”