Page 63 of Carter

John scoffs, “We keep going. What do you think we do?”

A voice rises from the back of the van. I almost jump out of my skin in surprise. “Aww! Look at that pretty kitty! Oh, he’s so sweet! John, why are you so coldhearted? You brute. We have to take him home! Just look at the pitiful thing!”

You have to be kidding me. We’ve got ourselves a stowaway.

Sasha.

Well, isn’t this just some shit.

I knew being a Bachman was risky, but I thought I was only risking my safety.

Not my sanity.

To be fair… Sasha’s made tremendous strides.

For her.

She’s given her full effort to our lifestyle. Become as submissive as she can.

But she’s still Sasha.

And I love her, exactly the way she is.

Even when she challenges the wellbeing of my mental health.

My love for her doesn’t make my current situation any easier.

Before I can speak, I see the look on John’s face.

Ice cold.

He turns so slowly over his shoulder, he’s barely moving. When he speaks, his voice is low, lethal. “Sasha… what the hell are you doing in this van?”

I turn around. Her olive skin is pasty white. Her brown eyes huge.

Caught.

Her bottom lip trembles when she speaks. “I heard you talking about the money for the program. Maya got her internship because of that place. Five kids are waiting on tuition deposits. You both know I spend every Saturday with those girls. I wanted to help. You needed quick and stealthy. I am quick and stealthy.”

The worst part is that she is not wrong about her ability. She is fast, disciplined, observant, and stronger than most men expect. She is also in the back of a van headed toward a felony without permission, training, or a contingency plan.

Caring does not make recklessness safe.

I say, “You do exactly what we tell you from this second forward. No improvising. No proving a point.”

She nods once. “Understood.”

“John, take us home,” I say.

John swears and checks the time. “We turn around and the deposits miss the deadline. Five kids, five colleges, one Ivy League. We do not have an hour.”

Sasha leans forward. “Then let me stay in the van. I won’t move unless you tell me to.”

John looks at me. I hate every option. Finally, he says, “She stays in the van.”

“You hear that?” I ask.

“Yes, sir.” For once, there is no sarcasm in it.