OVERCAST (B723 Book 1)

by Hazel Grace

  “Stormi.”

  My brows knit. That word, name, adjective.

  Let’s go...we need...Stormi. It’s all I remember Hollis yelling over the door of his forest-green pickup truck.

  Five words.

  And one that fits perfectly with the woman cowered down in front of me.

  It just blundered the final nail in her coffin.

  She was there.

  Her name was called out.

  “That’s...different,” I force from my lips like I give two fucks what her name is. Her nickname is now “dead” to me.

  “I didn’t do anything,” she utters. “I didn’t hurt anyone.”

  “Stormi.” It’s a sour taste on my tongue, but it comes out normal, collected. “Look at me.”

  Her neck then slowly cranes up, blue irises slamming forcefully into mine.

  I don’t know if she even realizes what those eyes can do to a man, but my inhale skips as they practically glow under the shitty-ass lighting of this dungeon Mills calls a basement.

  She seems so innocent. So guiltless that I tug in a deep and steady breath.

  Appearances aren’t everything.

  It’s what lies underneath to really spell out who a person is.

  How they tick and react to certain things or events like this. Stormi can act all day long, but she fails to notice that the truths are laid out in front of us.

  My eyes picked her up.

  I watched my sister struggle for her life under calm waves as she frantically tried to survive.

  For Huck.

  For Wade.

  For me.

  I remember my heart thrashing into my chest. I recall not being able to breathe in fear that I wouldn’t reach her in time. It’s extracted from my brain every single moment I’m faced with the woman in my grasp.

  “You need to eat.”

  “I need to go to a hospital.”

  I bite down on the inside of my cheek. “If you tell me who employed you to execute Reagan Lockwood, I’ll give you some...”

  Dick?

  Fucking Bishop.

  “Aspirin,” I finish.

  Stormi’s sandy eyebrows furrow at me. “I wasn’t hired to kill anyone.”

  “So, you were just with Hollis then?”

  She shakes her head. “No, I don’t...go places with him.” I readjust my jaw before straightening my spine.

  Back and forth.

  Back and forth.

  Back and forth.

  How many times are we going to do this?

  Apparently as many as to where I can’t take anymore and snap her pretty, little neck.

  My cell phone beeps in my back pocket, and begrudgingly I yank it out.

  Bishop: I don’t hear moaning yet.

  Stupid son of a bitch.

  “I’m sorry,” Stormi utters, redirecting my focus on her. “I don’t know the answers to your questions.”

  Wouldn’t that be so convenient, though?

  My nostrils flare, but I sit on my ass in front of her. “Tell me, Stormi, besides the hospital visit and the trip home, what can I do to get you to speak to me right now?”

  Being this girl’s savior is not my responsibility. Nor is her well-being any of my concern.

  The sins that she committed, those are my uneasiness, because I don’t know what else is lurking in the dark and waiting to snap my sister’s neck at any given moment.

  However, if pills to curb the pain will sway her, I’ll even bring down a glass of water.

  “We don’t have to make this so violent,” I profess softly, smelling the hint of flowers off her skin.

  I fight how good it smells.

  It doesn’t matter. Nothing about this blonde matters except for what she did. And what she refuses to give up.

  The sound of boots upstairs reminds me of my buddies, and this wise-ass decision of being pleasant to my hostage.

  Reverse psychology—the dumbest shit I’ve ever heard.

  Stormi’s crystal blue eyes examine my features, looking for lies that are clearly beneath my skin.

  We don’t have to make this so violent—uh, yeah, we do, and we are.

  Her irises stare back at me, studying and appearing truly curious and defenseless—it makes me want to change my damn mind.

  And we can add that right underneath this great fucking idea.

  Don’t get me wrong—I’d love to fuck this woman. But under different circumstances that didn’t include an attempted homicide and falsehoods looming off her frame.

  I enjoy her pleas as it is, though, I have an odd feeling that I’d become drugged by her sighs and cries while I’m balls deep inside her. How much pleasure I’d take in hovering over her and taking what I want.

  What she would want.

  She obviously revels in getting off, don’t need the reminder on how I found her, and I know for a fact I can make her see more stars than she ever has with Hollis.

  And with just that thought, I wish to rebel back and away from her.

  “I gave you answers,” she mumbles. “I told you what I know. It’s not—” I’m instantly in her face, inches away from her lips because she needs to stop lying to me. To quit with the bullshit act of portraying herself as sinlessness in—again—what I saw.

  How many times do I need to say it?

  She was literally caught in the act. There is no denying what she did. Only one response of who she works for, where they met, a phone number, any fucking thing would help me.

  “But not the most important one, sweetheart,” I ground out in the softest tone I can manage. “Who hired you or Hollis to kill Reagan Lockwood?”

  “I don’t—”

  “Know, you said that,” I reply through my teeth. “Give me something, anything.” I loathe the way my words come out forlorn. That she knows she holds answers that I lack.

  “Hollis is a dirty piece of shit.”

  “Need more than that.”

  “That I’m not surprised.”

  My brows knit together. “About what?”

  “That he’s done something to another woman.” She averts her eyes from me. “That he tried to hurt someone.”

  “Stormi.” She hesitantly trails her attention back to me. “Reagan Lockwood, why were you there?”

  “Where?”

  “At the lake.”

  “I wasn’t at a lake.”

  Oh, my fucking God, I’m going to lose my shit.

  “I saw you.”

  She sways her head back and forth slowly. “It wasn’t me.”

  “Trust me when I say...I saw your body running away. Can’t forget it.” Especially when my buddies upstairs put the idea that I should seduce and screw the replies out of her.

  “I don’t believe you,” she says simply. “And there is no evidence that I was there.”

  “Except for the fact that my twenty-twenty vision picked you up.”

  “Were you drunk?”

  My eyes narrow. “No.”

  “Did you take a picture?”

  “Yeah, because I have a camera attached to my ass.”

  “Then you didn’t see me.” Her gaze narrows in slightly on me. The first piece of indication that I’ve seen off her. “I have a feeling that you’re not seeing anything right now for what it is.”

  “I only witnessed it first hand.” I pull back, then rise from my haunches. “You’re just proving my original reaction when it came to you. Everything you’ve spilled is a load of bullshit. And I don’t need you anymore.”

  “I’m pregnant.”

  Those two words would’ve made me over the moon days ago.

  I would’ve lit a blunt to celebrate, cracked open a beer, and went home to see my sister so that I could hug her for a five solid minutes before she bitched at me to let go.

  Now...I’m standing in the apartment that Bishop and I rent out month to month, dread coating my normally cool facade as a million scenarios and ideas orchestrate rapidly in my head.

  Reagan isn’t safe until
the men or women behind all of this are dead. And now she’s bringing another child into the world, and I’ve only had three days to attempt to figure this shit out.

  “I’m sorry, Marty,” Reagan mutters, causing another gut-punch to my insides. “I wish I didn’t have to tell you over the phone. I just...haven’t seen you since…”

  Since I found you choking, half-conscious, in the lake.

  I shake my head vigorously as though she can see me. “No, no. Tsarina, it’s wonderful.”

  It’s not.

  It’s freaking me the fuck out.

  Normally, I would’ve already researched my assignments, knew where they would be, what establishment they worked at, their schedules—but this time everything is spur of the moment.

  Working on a whim without an ending or a starting point besides the blonde that currently has me pacing my living room like a caged animal, who won’t sing a clue to help me out.

  And I’m ready to bite right into her neck and shake her until I sever it.

  There’s no one to stop me or interrupt now.

  Mills kicked us out of his basement—the fucker. After plan B of seducing her didn’t work out, it was non-stop of his complaining, whining, “when are you going to finish this” and I had finally had enough.

  God forbid that my so-called brother that he so kindly mentions when he wants something lets me keep the blonde bitch for one more night before we get rid of her.

  Apparently, that’s a concept. And the motherfucker forgets that I don’t overlook shit.

  “No...it’s not,” Reagan replies stiffly, sounding like she’s tearing up. “I’m terrified to have another child right now.”

  It’s a gut punch.

  I can’t haul what happened from her brain, and there’s nothing I can do other than what I’m trying to do, find out who and why.

  “When are you coming home?” Reagan’s voice is a tremor of necessitate of my being there, and I’m not. “You left...without saying goodbye.” My jaw locks, and I rake my hand through my tousled hair.

  It’s only because I was too busy chasing the miniature blonde and that fat ass Hollis in his truck.

  Once I knew Reagan was breathing, my cell was already in my hands, calling up Bishop to get our guys out there. Wade was my next call, only because I needed shit done, not his bitching, and questioning once I told him that his wife was attacked.

  “Tomorrow night,” I reply, trying to sound excited.

  After I bury this bitch in a six-foot hole after wasting my time.

  Unfortunately, Stormi is loose baggage and delusional to believe that I’m not going to make good on my word. I’m not a basic-ass assassin or what people would call a murderer—whatever it is you want to call me—Stormi is going to learn while I get to watch every speck of dirt hit her picturesque frame.

  At least I’ll get half my wish—that I’ll be the last thing she sees.

  “Huck will be happy to see you,” Reagan chimes in. “And I’ll make your favorite for dinner.”

  I smile, try to at least, so it reaches my voice. “That sounds fucking amazing.”

  Mindlessly, I walk to the jar in my kitchen that has cookies and one of my blunts in it. My sister being pregnant adds a whole new level of anxiety coursing through me, and it’s a feeling that I’m not used to.

  Huck needs to be my backup.

  Yeah, a fucking five-year-old.

  I need a damn army to protect my sister, and if I can teach that kid how to kill someone before he’s thirteen, I’ll be a damn success.

  A nerf gun. I need to get that kid one.

  I’m not going to be alive forever, especially with the line of work I’m in.

  Every day is what people call a blessing, and it is, but the jobs I do come with a red ink revenge sticker on the back of your head.

  It creates shit like this.

  And I knew, deep down in my gut, that I should’ve never stayed with Reagan and Mama. Something about me would always be off.

  “When’s the last time you actually ate a good meal?” I shrug, reaching the door to get outside because the next thing I need is Bishop bitching about the smell of weed.

  “Not sure, probably your—” Whipping open my door, a curvy frame and honey-brown eyes meet me on the other side.

  “Emric, I—shit, your eye.” My brows knit as I frown at my new neighbor, Jane, who said that a little too loud.

  “Do you have company?” my sister asks, curiosity peaked.

  “Neighbor,” I deadpan, keeping my eyes locked on Jane. “I love you, see you tomorrow.”

  Hanging up, Jane brings her fingers to her lips. “Oops, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt your call.”

  I lift a shoulder dismissively, letting my gaze soak in her tan legs and the black, comfy-looking dress that hits right about her knees. It hides the curves that I know exist underneath the willowy fabric because, well, I’ve touched, sunk my teeth in, and kissed them before.

  “What brings you down the hallway, Janey?” I lean against the side of the doorframe, pocketing my phone, and watching her squirm under my gaze.

  Ordinarily, I’d think the shy bit was cute. Jane was a beautiful girl, smart—I believe she mentioned that she got a master’s degree in something once before—and tight as fuck. She moved in about three weeks ago, found her struggling with two boxes on top of each other that were almost as tall as her.

  Continuing with my civic duties to keeping the community safe, this time in a calm and collected matter, I helped Jane move.

  I didn’t have shit to do that day, needed the exercise, Jane had shit all for things, and I got to fuck her against the cheap laminate of her kitchen island afterward.

  We ended up doing it two other times after running into each other, and it appears like my timid neighbor wants another round.

  She points at my eye, mesmerized by the blues and purples that I’m sure are forming by now.

  Did I forget to mention that I knocked Mills on his ass so he’d stop bitching?

  He retaliated.

  “You need some ice.” I perk a brow, sinking my hand into my pocket to grab a lighter when she continues with, “And I came by because I heard you come home and wanted to…” She lets her sentence leadoff for me to place it back on track again.

  Except, she mirrors someone I already want to bone and have no business thinking, acting, or wanting to do.

  Jane’s blonde hair, a shade darker, is fucking me up right now because I’ve imagined running my fingers through my victim’s silky strands and presenting her beautiful neck to me.

  Those crystal blues that have my body reacting towards screwing her in another way that doesn’t require so much blood.

  I grind my teeth together but plaster a smile on my face for Jane. “You wanted, what?”

  Flicking my Zippo, I place my next high between my lips and light the bastard.

  I need to hear her say the words, to be different—in any way, shape or form, from what I currently have locked up like Golem from Lord of the Rings in the spare bedroom.

  Jane inches closer. “I wanted to know if you were available.” I continue to stare at her, inhaling on my blunt.

  I don’t screw little girls; I fuck women.

  So, if she wants my dick, she better speak up because I’m not teaching her how to speak her mind.

  “To do round four or five.”

  I perk a brow and exhale my hit through my nose. “You want to fight me?”

  Jane narrows her eyes before catching on to my somewhat teasing.

  Told you she was smart with that master’s degree.

  She opens her mouth but doesn’t get the chance because something behind me crashes to the floor.

  Speaking of people’s intelligence...

  I have a feeling that my new lamp just met its demise, and Stormi’s nosey little ears heard Jane’s voice, trying to grasp her attention.

  Which she does.

  “What was that?” Jane attempts to look around me, b
ut I take up most of the doorway, and...I’m not about to go scoop out the disturbance just yet.

  “I’m dog sitting,” I deadpan, through another hit. “Little fucker doesn’t like the kennel, apparently.”

  Her face lights up with a pretty smile. “Aw, what kind?”

  “A poodle.” A blonde rug-a-muffin who needs a shower and that long walk in the field where you put them out of their misery.

  Regaining Jane’s focus, I loom into her space. “Did you come here to make small talk, or was there another kind of activity that you had in mind, Janey?”

  If Stormi wants to get Jane’s attention and be a part of our conversation, I’ll let her, but not in the way she’s hoping for.

  And the thought of her hearing me fuck Jane in the other room has my cock coming to life.

  “I want...” She straightens her spine, her perky tits pushing through the v-neck of her dress. “I want to fuck.”

  My lips quirk while my teeth keep my blunt in my mouth. “Fuck?” She gives me one stiff nod. “Well...” I reach for her wrist. “In that case...” Her chest hurls into mine as I remove my weed from my lips and run my fingers through her soft hair.

  Locks that aren’t the right shade.

  Eyes that aren’t the correct color but are going to have to do. Because I’m not fucking that sister-killer in the next room.

  Bishop can take his bright ideas and shove them up his big ass.

  Leaning in, I press my mouth to hers. Jane tastes like mint, and the flowery perfume she always wears infiltrates my nostrils.

  I pinch my eyelids harder as Jane melts into me, pulling her deeper into my apartment so that I can close the door.

  In this moment—she’s all I need to be thinking about.

  But even with my eyes closed, I can still feel Stormi yards away from me.

  Her sugary voice pierces my ears like a blow horn right into my skull, creating a headache. I’ve never gotten so lost in Jane to where I can curb anything going on in my day to day.

  It’s never been mind-blowing.

  Granted, it’s not fucking awful because I just invited her in, but...this might be a problem.

  Even when Jane’s light brown eyes have peered up at me while sucking me off, I’ve never noticed much more than their color or any other unique feature. But Stormi’s throws me on fucking pause and has me halting, overthinking, and listening to Bishop and Mills with their dumb as fuck ideas.