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Standing here with Sloan, looking my own death in the face, it seems like a long time ago when I last flirted with any of them. I wish I could take it all back. I wish I had asked Levi or Rory for help. I wish I had confronted Sloan earlier about what I saw. Anything to not be standing here in front of him, miles and miles away from anyone who can help me, about to die.
I’m about to die.
That thought crystalizes in my head like a shard of glass, and a fresh surge of adrenaline washes away some of my paralyzing fear. My survival instincts flare—the primal, basic urge to live rushing through me and making my veins buzz.
I feel awful about what I did and the fallout from it, but I don’t want to die. My death won’t fix anything, and I can’t believe Sloan is really about to kill me, as calm as anything.
I won’t let him.
Moving suddenly, I duck to one side and then whirl around, trying to take a jab at Sloan with my bound wrists. It’s awkward with them tied together, and I can’t land a solid punch, but I do swipe at his face and hear him grunt in pain. That’s something.
He grabs for me, and I dart away, turning to try to knee him in the balls. If I can get him down, that will buy me some time to run. Maybe I can make it back to the car before he does. That’s the extent of my plan, but it’s better than nothing.
Sloan blocks my knee with the hand not holding a gun, and he pushes me back, grabbing for me again. This time I’m not fast enough, and he grabs my shirt, hauling me closer. I shift my balance and ram my shoulder into his chest, sending him staggering backward.
Blood rushing in my ears, I press the slight advantage, trying to knock him down. But with my wrists bound like they are, he has even more of an advantage, and he grabs me again, taking me down to the ground with him.
We land awkwardly, me on top of him at first, and the strong smell of earth and grass floods my senses. I’m a little dazed, but I shake it off and try to grab for the gun before Sloan has time to recover.
My fingers brush it, and I try to wrap them around it, but Sloan wrenches it away before I can get a grip. He shoves me over, trying to get on top of me, but I buck him off, refusing to be pinned that easily. I scramble away, breathing hard, and aim a kick for his hand, trying to knock the gun away from him at the very least.
He just tightens his grip on it and grunts in pain when my foot connects with his hand. His eyes flare with anger, and he lunges for me once more, this time faster than I can react to.
It’s like earlier in his room, the two of us wrestling for a weapon, trying to get the better of each other, but this time, I’m at a much bigger disadvantage. He’s bigger and stronger than I am, and my hands are tied, limiting my range of movement. Even if I could get the upper hand, it would be hard to keep it like this.
Sloan tackles me, sending me down into the layer of leaves on the ground on my stomach, face pressed to the earth. I can hear my breath wheezing in and out of me, and my hands are trapped under my body, useless and aching from the ropes and my own bodyweight.
He presses a knee into my back, and I grunt with pain, squirming and writhing to try to get away, even though it’s clear I’m not going anywhere. I’m trapped.
The knee lifts, but before I have time to do anything, Sloan is on top of me again, straddling my waist and aiming the gun down at me. My head is turned to one side, my cheek pressed against the mossy ground, and he points the gun at my temple.
My neck is craned enough that I can see his face, and it’s full of the hard anger I’m so used to seeing, his eyes burning with a cold fury. He looks more like his dad than ever. I hold my breath as I stare up
at him, unable to look anywhere else.
There’s a bruise blooming on his cheek, and I remember that I clocked him good earlier when we were fighting at the house. Pain stabs my heart, sharp and devastating.
I can’t believe this is how I’m going to die.
Scarlett told me to be careful, and I didn’t listen to her. Now I’m never going to see her again. My dad’s alive somewhere, for now, and he’ll never get a chance to see me again. It’ll break him, to know I died getting caught up in all of this shit. All he ever wanted was to keep me safe, but I’ve always been too reckless, getting into scrapes every chance I got.
I wonder if they’ll tell him what I did. I wonder if they’ll count killing me as punishment enough, or if they’ll decide he has to die too. That’s even worse to think about, and I bite the inside of my cheek, trying to hold back the tears that burn my eyes.
What really hurts is that Sloan is the one who’s going to do this.
I’d be terrified if it was Gavin, but at least he’s someone I don’t know. Someone who doesn’t give a shit about me.
I tried to hate Sloan from the moment I first met him, and I had every reason to. But without even trying, even while trying to do the exact opposite, I started to care for him. Something was building between us, something easy and natural when we let it be. Like on our date, when we were so wrapped up in each other, and afterwards when he looked at me with those sad eyes, wishing things could have been different.
I thought he was starting to care about me too. But he’s too much like his father. His duty will always override everything else, the same way it did for Gavin when Sloan was a kid. He’s following right in his father’s footsteps, and there’s nothing I can do to stop him now.
Even though I know it was faked, I can’t stop replaying the image of him shooting my dad. It’s like that scene is repeating itself now, only this time, instead of being on the other side of the street, watching from behind the corner of a building, I’m the one staring down the barrel of Sloan’s gun.
I can’t decide if it’s better or worse knowing that this time, it’s not an act. It won’t be faked.
This time, the blood will be real.
The tears I’ve been suppressing finally fall, leaking from my eyes and down the side of my face, spilling to soak into the ground under my head. I don’t even bother to blink them away. There’s no point.
