Unexpected

“Ellie is not a slut,” Asher scolds. “And I’m not your boy.”

I search the cream-colored carpet for my socks and find them tucked into my shoes by the foot of the bed. I grab them and hurry to put them on because things sound like they are heating up in the living room.

“Thank god for that. You’re a piece of shit.”

My breath catches in my chest. Did Clint really say that? His blatant dislike for Asher tears me up inside. Asher is a good man, with a kind heart. He doesn’t deserve to be talked to like this, let alone woken up this way. I hope this isn’t an everyday thing for him.

“Whatever.” Asher huffs. “We’ll be out of your hair in five minutes.”

“You owe me this week's rent,” Clint demands.

My ears prick, curiosity spiked. Why does Asher have to pay rent in his mother’s home? Is he choosing to stay in this falling down trailer and abusive environment? Something about their conversation feels off. I hurry to finish tying the laces of my Converse.

“I don’t have it yet.”

Clint chuckles darkly. “I’m not opposed to other forms of payment. I’m sure we can work something out with that slut of yours.”

There’s a scuffling and then something made of glass shatters. I run out of Asher’s room, almost twisting my ankle on a soft spot when the floor dips. Clint has Asher pinned to the ground in the kitchen with the edge of a broken beer bottle against his neck.

“Hey!” I yell, storming across the double-wide. The kitchen, dining room, and living room are all one area, separated by the change from carpet to linoleum tile. “Get the hell off him!”

Clint ignores me and presses the edge of the broken glass harder against Asher’s neck. A trickle of blood leaks, staining his pristine skin red. Clint laughs at the sight while Asher is chillingly still. Fueled by rage, I kick the man in the side.

Clint grunts and turns his attention to me. “You’re a stupid little bitch.”

He stands and drops the beer bottle to the floor. His sweat-stained tank top barely covers his stomach. Blue jeans streaked black hang off his hips. His breath stinks from a mix of not brushing his teeth and alcohol. I absorb all of this in a fraction of a second, while he grabs me by the hair and pulls my face to his until we’re nose to nose.

From my peripheral vision, I see Asher scurry to his feet, but I keep my eyes trained on Clint. I’m not scared. I know without a doubt that Asher won’t let anything happen to me.

The distinct sound of metal sliding against metal as a bullet is chambered into a gun causes Clint to flinch. He lets my hair go, dropping me to the ground, and turns around.

Asher stands a foot away, one leg behind the other, pointing a small black gun at Clint. “Get your things, Ellie. We’re leaving.”

I scramble to my feet then run into Asher’s room. I grab my shirt, keys, and phone, then reach for Asher’s shoes. I dart out of his room and to the front door. The scene in the k

itchen hasn’t changed. Clint is staring at Asher like he wants to murder him, but he seems to have enough sense not to push Asher’s buttons this morning.

“I’m ready.” I pull the front door open and press the unlock button on my wireless key fob. The lights of my sedan blink, letting me know that everything is open.

Asher steps towards me, never taking his gaze off of Clint. His gun stays trained on the man who literally had me in his grasp minutes ago. When Asher reaches the front door he says, “Get in the car, Ellie. I’m not moving until you do.”

I race down the front steps to my car and whip the door open. I start the engine and park as close to the porch steps as possible. Asher pulls the front door shut then takes the steps two at a time. He hops in and I peel out of his driveway before the passenger door is closed. Dust kicks up behind my tires. There’s no point in looking in the rearview mirror. I can’t see anything. But I feel Clint’s eyes watching us as we speed away.

Asher opens my glove box and shoves his pistol inside. I want to ask him how long he’s had a gun, where it came from, and if he’s ever used it before, but I’m scared of the answers. That side of the tracks is like a world of its own. Everyone knows the cops there are dirty. I wouldn’t say we have a mob, because this isn’t the nineteen-twenties, but there are some scary guys over there who control what happens.

Dad talks about it all the time. Being a prosecuting lawyer, it’s his job to make sure the bad guys are put behind bars and stay there. He doesn’t get into details at home, but two names always light dad up: McCarron and Michlovich. Whoever those guys are, they are big players in everything that happens over here.

“We’re supposed to meet Maggie and Russell at the beach in ten minutes,” Asher says, breaking the silence once I cross over the railroad tracks that separate the good side of town from the bad.

“Wait? What?” I pull up to a stoplight and peer over at Asher. He stares out the window, his hands clasped together in his lap. We need to talk about what happened this morning but I have a feeling now isn't the time. “I don't have a bathing suit.”

“I’m sure Maggie has one you can borrow,” Asher replies, his face expressionless. I can’t tell if this was the first time he’s pulled a gun on his stepdad or if things like this happen all the time. Whatever the case, Asher is deep in his thoughts and that frightens me.

He's shaking, likely from coming down from the adrenaline rush. I need to keep him talking, to get him out of his head. “Wait, both Maggie and Russell are going? How much did I miss last night?”

“A lot.” Asher finally looks at me. Too bad I can’t stare back for more than a quick second because the light turns green. I bring my gaze back to the road and he looks out the window again. "Maggie called after you fell asleep on the ride home. I answered because I was worried Liam ratted to your mom about how you got wasted.”

“Oh, okay.” I vaguely remember Asher texting Mom last night. If he hadn’t, she would be blowing up my phone, wondering where I am. I need to look through my text messages later to see what he said and get my story straight.