“How long do you think it takes someone to recover from being completely fucking brainwashed?” I ask Paul.

I glance back at him and he shrugs. “What are you talking about, Asa?”

“Like how much therapy do you think a person will need in order to get over being brainwashed? A few weeks? Months? More than a year?”

Paul stares at me a moment and then shakes his head. “I’ll see you in a few hours, Asa.”

He stands, so I stand. The same four guards escort me out of the courtroom.

I should probably be fucking ecstatic that this case just got thrown out. The next one should be even easier, because Paul says Luke’s department isn’t pressing charges. So as long as I cut a plea deal, undergo some psychiatric treatment and give them the information they want on Jon and Kevin, I more than likely won’t be charged with shooting Luke in the fucking chest.

That says a lot about our court system. I fucking come within six centimeters of killing a guy in cold blood, and I walk free because I tattle and claim a mental illness?

I fucking love the USA.

It almost feels like all my efforts have gone to waste, though. Since the moment I started growing suspicious that someone was brainwashing Sloan, I’ve been concocting this elaborate scheme and I’m not even really getting credit for it. I had to deny having anything to do with the fake raid, which was really hard for my ego. I’m fucking proud of that and I want to brag to the world that I pulled it off flawlessly.

Not to mention the fucking schizophrenia shit. Shower with your clothes on, check the lock on a door a few times and people think you’re losing your fucking mind. I had to do it, though. I know myself and I knew if I found out my suspicions were true and Sloan was fucking someone else, that I would more than likely lose my shit and murder the guy. I can’t very well murder someone and run the risk of being tried as a mentally competent adult. I had to have a back-up plan so I wouldn’t rot in fucking prison like my father did most of his life.

Maybe it wasn’t a complete waste. I at least have the “schizophrenia” to fall back on if I ever need it. Which I probably will eventually, because Luke is still breathing.

When I make it back to my cell, I fall down onto the bed as the bars clank shut behind me. I can’t help but smile.

This whole thing is turning out so beautiful. Sloan will take some time to come around again, but I know she will. Especially once Luke is out of the picture for good. I’ll have to somehow look past the fact that Luke has been inside her. I can fuck him out of her, though. I’ll just have to fuck her a whole goddamn bunch and in every position until I no longer think about him when I look at her.

“What are you so fucking happy about?” a voice says.

I turn my head and look at my cellmate. I can’t remember his name. He’s asked me about a million questions since I was thrown in this cell with him, but this is the first time I actually answer him.

“I’m about to be a free man,” I tell him, staring up at the ceiling with a huge goddamn fucking smile on my face. “Which means I finally get to marry my fiancé. In a real wedding. With a three-tier coconut cake.”

I can’t help but laugh, just thinking about it.

I’m coming for you, Sloan. Whether you think you want me to or not.

You promised to love me.

Forever.

And you fucking will.

The End

Epilogue for the epilogue

You guys didn't really think I would do that to you, did you? 

Happy 4/20!

SLOAN

I bring the cup of coffee to my mouth. My hands are shaking so bad, it makes tiny little black waves of coffee crash against the sides of my cup.

I glance over at the clock on the far wall. Three in the morning.

It’s been two days since Asa’s case was thrown out. He was bailed out that afternoon. Luke and I were sent to this apartment in the city for protection until the next hearing.

It’s a nice apartment, but when I’m too scared to step outside or even look out the window, it feels more like a prison. Luke has assured me over and over that there’s no way Asa will find us here. But what Luke probably doesn’t understand is that even if Asa is locked up in prison the rest of his life, I’ll still constantly be looking over my shoulder. If it isn’t Asa himself that could hurt me or Luke, I wouldn’t put it past him to hire someone else to do it.

I turn my head when I hear the bedroom door open. Luke walks out, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He’s wearing black jogging pants that hang off his hips and no shirt. The bandages from his wound cover most of his chest. He’s barefoot, shuffling across the hard wood floor toward me.

He reaches the back of the couch and I lean my head back and look up at him. He leans forward and kisses my forehead upside down. “You okay?”

I shrug. “I can’t sleep. Again.”

His eyes are sympathetic and he lifts a hand, brushing my hair off my forehead. “Sloan,” he says quietly. “You don’t have to worry here. He can’t find us. We’re safe until his next trial, I promise.”

I nod again, but his words do little to comfort me. I’ll never trust Asa, no matter how safe I should feel.

He walks around the couch and sits down, pulling me onto his lap until I’m straddling him. He wraps his hands around my lower back and says, “What can I do to help you sleep?”

I smile. I like his distraction methods. “It’s only been two weeks since you were released. You have two more to go.”

His hands cup my ass beneath his oversized t-shirt I’m wearing. He slides his fingers beneath the edges of my panties, sending chills over me and forcing Asa out of my head for a few seconds. “I wasn’t thinking about sex with you,” he says. “I was thinking more along the lines of what I could do for you.”

One of his hands slides around to my stomach and then up to my breast. His thumb brushes my nipple at the same time his tongue slides across my lips. He kisses me, deep, then pulls back just as I start to grow dizzy.

“I’ll be careful,” he says. “My hands and mouth will do all the work, but I’ll make sure the rest of me takes it easy. Okay?”

I know I should encourage his recovery, but every time he touches me, it calms me down. Makes me less nervous.

I need that right now.

“Okay,” I whisper.

He smiles and then pulls off my shirt. His mouth covers my right breast, and after giving that one attention, he moves to my left. Then he pushes me until my back is against the couch and he’s hovering over me. His lips drag across my mouth, my neck, my breasts. His breath warms up every part of me while his hand works it’s way inside my panties.

He adjusts me until I have one leg lifted over the back of the couch and one leg on the floor. He rests his lips against mine and whispers, “Watch me.”

I open my eyes, just as his fingers slip inside me. I moan, struggling to keep my eyes open, but he likes the eye contact.

I like it, too. It’s new for me.

In the past, with Asa, I’ve always kept my eyes shut tight because I never wanted to look at him.

With Luke, I’m scared I’ll miss something. I don’t want to miss the way he looks at me, the way he responds to my noises. I love the eye contact.

He presses his thumb against me while his fingers remain inside of me and we only have to keep eye contact for no more than thirty seconds, because that’s all it takes for his touch to completely send me over the edge. As soon as I start shaking beneath him, he claims my mouth with his, swallowing his name as it flows from my lips. He kisses me until it’s over, and then lowers himself until he’s pressed against me. I can feel him bulging through his sweatpants and it creates another need in me.