OVERCAST (B723 Book 1)

by Hazel Grace

  Well, no time like the present. The asshole in front of me, we’re going for a ride.

  Pulling him towards me, I shove both of us through the large window of the room, using him as a cushion.

  If the shattering of glass falling and flying around us doesn’t cause some kind of ruckus to make people come out of their rooms or away from their fuck sessions, I’m out of options. I need something, anything to make sure Stormi doesn’t leave this parking lot without me.

  I’ll worry about how I’m going to explain her pleas later.

  We both grunt at the impact and I’m already locked in on Stormi being led to a heavy-duty F-150.

  Swiftly crammed into the backseat, one of the men follow her while the other climbs into the driver’s seat. The exhaust rumbles to life as I sprint the few feet and clutch onto the tailgate.

  Then a shot rings out.

  Fuck.

  I can either be drug around by the back bumper or just take my truck.

  I go with the latter.

  Letting go, my keys are already in the ignition as I hop in, starting it up and throwing it in reverse.

  Mills, I have no idea where that ass clown is, but he’s going to have to hang out while I fuck these three’s dream up.

  The men barrel down the road, drifting out of the parking lot heading south towards the city as I careen out after them without looking for traffic.

  A horn blares, followed by headlights in my eyes before I control my vehicle and straighten out the back tires.

  Hitting the gas pedal, I start to reel them in when a bullet hits my windshield, cracking the glass on the passenger side into spiderwebs.

  Mills has the only gun with ammo in it—perfect. Because why would this be easy like all my other pursuits?

  Running a hand down the side of my face, I keep increasing my speed as we make a sharp turn to the right. I’m about twenty yards away when another gunshot sounds, clipping the hood.

  I’ve never liked being shot at; I mean, who would?

  Except, instead of being fearful that I’m going to get hit, it sets off a foggy rage within me with each bullet. The shooter is my only target, everything else around me blends into a colorful blur of nothing.

  Shoving the pedal to the floor as soon as we hit the straightaway, I swerve to the left, riding the median line and flick on my brights—because I’m a petty asshole and these dickheads are about to see another tunnel of light altogether in a few minutes.

  Hitting the edge of the bumper, I turn my truck to the right, forcing theirs to lose traction. The F-150 moves a tad, but the driver catches it quickly.

  Plan B then.

  Lurching to the opposite side of the road, I begin to gain ground. The closer I get, the more I know my chances of getting shot are higher.

  Except for that blur I was talking about and what they have that is mine—it wins out over everything.

  My front bumper lines up to the back fender of the Ford, and that’s when I sidestep —hard. Throwing my brakes on so that I don’t get hit, the vehicle does what I wanted it to do.

  However, I didn’t want it to start flipping, which is what I’m watching it do right the fuck now.

  I feel my heart drop, as the red truck tosses in a circle, each time hitting a piece of the body and breaking it off into the street.

  After at least a minute, it stops upside down, and I skid my tires to a stop.

  My boots hit the cement, and I’m running, the back door the first one I yank open. Two gunshots reverberate the moment I do.

  Jumping to the side and away from the window, I climb the bottom of the truck.

  “Stormi!” I yell, my skin going cold when I’m met with no response.

  This. Is. Not. Going. To. End. This. Way.

  I remain with no clues of who is behind my sister’s attempted assassination. Hollis is giving up nothing, and that old fuck of her dad isn’t going to be able to take what I have in store for him. That’s why I’m letting Kyson and his calm rationality handle it.

  “You’re...fucking dead,” a male voice groans out.

  I let out a heavy, inaudible breath. With no gun, I’m useless out here.

  My eyes flick to my truck, knowing I have my toolbox of all my fucked up shit in there, but what am I going to do chuck a hammer at them?

  “Give me the fucking girl,” I holler back.

  “Fuck you!”

  I rub my right temple. “Cops are going to be here any minute, or someone is bound to come down this road eventually.”

  “Good luck explaining that one, douchebag.”

  Seriously, solid point.

  My brain can’t think fast enough to turn up with another plan. That, and I really don’t have the time. Someone in the hotel could’ve already called the pigs. We made ample ruckus to wake at least one person up.

  However, I wasn’t leaving without Stormi.

  Slowly, I make my way to the side where I expect her to be. I need to keep the asshole’s attention away from her window so that I can pull her out, and hopefully, she’s not pinned on something.

  On the passenger side’s edge, I reach inside my jeans pocket, finding my wallet, a bottle cap, and a piece of gum.

  I’m so fucking off my game that I can’t believe I didn’t pack more ammo.

  Balancing on the edge to jump down, I take the item that will create some sort of noise and toss the metal bottle cap.

  I hop down, hoping not to make too much noise and land on the other side of the fender. A gunshot rings out again, and I know my plan has worked.

  “Get the fuck away from the truck, man.”

  I roll my eyes, hesitantly peering around the car door to see if I can find Stormi. The glass is broken, mostly on the inside, into small pieces all over the truck’s roof. Then I notice a few strands of blonde hair, and they’re not moving.

  I need a limb, a piece of her shirt, anything to yank her out.

  Picking up a decent-sized slice of glass, I only have one opportunity to throw it, and reach for Stormi.

  After that, I got nothing.

  Tossing it over the side, I’m hoping that the dude is still staring in the direction from the last noise because I’m already moving, seeking for anything to pull on her. I hear a soft clink to the cement, letting me know that it’s fallen to the ground, and I see Stormi’s white t-shirt.

  Already grabbing onto it, I heave, not knowing if she’s stuck or knocked out.

  From the weight that follows, she’s unconscious, and I have to drag her along shards of glass without being careful.

  “Mother—” Another gunshot penetrates the air, followed by a second. A burning irritation hits my forearm, but I maintain my focus on her, my assignment.

  Suddenly, Stormi is pulled back, and I know he’s trying to keep her in the vehicle. I wrench once more, and she comes with me.

  As quick as I can and with another shot off, I get her positioned against the fender. Her head tilts to the side, exposing blood in her hair and on the creamy ivory skin of her neck. Those blue eyes that fuck me up remain closed from my accidental truck gymnastics.

  Alright enough of this shit.

  I lightly start smacking her cheek. “Stormi, wake up.”

  The sound of glass remnants starts to ring inside the vehicle—he’s moving this way.

  Lying her on the ground, I stand, waiting for his head to pop out through the open window. It does, and I uppercut him with the tip of my boot, followed by another round to his throat.

  He chokes, and before I can rip his gun from his hand, the sound of a hammer clicks behind me, halting my next step.

  “Don’t fucking move.”

  I raise my hands, standing still before nervous-ass starts blasting off bullets. He fucked up when I heard his voice shake.

  “I just want the girl,” I reply.

  “You’re not going to get her.” The guy sounds young and hopefully inexperienced. He signed up for a little more than what he bargained for.

  Flicking
my gaze to the other male, he’s out cold. “Let’s talk about this,” I encourage, beginning to slowly turn around. “I—”

  “Don’t move!” The barrel of the gun grazes against my skull then presses into it. “Don’t. Fucking. Move.”

  “Alright,” I quip. “Why do you need her?”

  “Don’t ask quest—just shut the fuck up.”

  I shrug. “Okay, dude.” A creamy moan emits below me, but it’s too fucking sweet-sounding for it to be the fucker I just kicked.

  Peering over at where I left Stormi, she begins to stir and lifts her head off the ground, her blue eyes slamming into mine.

  They expand, not expecting to see me, but then they track to the dude standing next to me.

  “Stand up, sweetheart,” I order, keeping still because I want the gun on me and not her. Her brows knit as she brushes her forehead with her hand and finds blood. “Now.”

  She immediately begins to rise, but the youngster behind me barks out, “Stay down.”

  “She needs a hospital,” I tell him, watching her stare at me. Not that she’s going to go to one, but I need something to distract this dude.

  “You’re the one who flipped the car,” he snaps, shoving the gun deeper into my head.

  I mean...

  “Fully aware,” I drone. Stormi stands but buckles over, hands on her knees. She lets out a grunt then attempts to straighten her spine. “Why weren’t you wearing a fucking seatbelt?”

  Odd question to be asking while there is a pistol to my head, and she was literally shoved in the truck. Probably the last thing I would’ve thought about.

  Nevertheless, it still doesn’t stop it from leaving my lips.

  “Stay right where you are,” Youngster commands. “Don’t move a muscle.”

  “My keys are in my truck,” I continue before jerking my head in the direction of it. “Get in.”

  “Stop telling her to do things,” he storms. “I’ll blow your brains out.” Stormi doesn’t move, staring at me with a strange look on her face.

  I glare at her. “Do what I just fucking—” Youngster removes the gun off my skull, and my brain registers into fight mode.

  There is only one other person he’d point it at, and he sure as fuck isn’t going to be taking out my only lead.

  Stepping back, I lunge my elbow into any part of his body that I can. I don’t know how tall he is, how big or small, I just need him to keep that fucking weapon out of her direction.

  Connecting with a slender frame, I twirl on my heels as a grunt escapes his lips. My fist is next into the side of his face, but it doesn’t stop the gunshot that goes off.

  It doesn’t stop the feeling of my heart missing its next beat or how I felt when I saw Reagan’s head underneath the water in the lake.

  It’s all too familiar.

  Too fresh in my head, and it twists my stomach into a few knots.

  Slamming my fist into the asshole’s face again, he falls on his knees, and I use my knee to strike his nose.

  Somehow, I have his gun in my hand, I don’t remember touching it, I just recall the recoil as I pull the trigger.

  Whirling around, Stormi is peering down at her stomach, tee stained in blood. The asshole from earlier is on his belly, Ruger LCP in his palm aimed up at my blonde.

  “Stormi,” I shout before her knees give out, and she plunges to the cement.

  She’s out.

  And I’m pissed.

  Without looking, I aim the gun at the other dude and jerk back on the trigger.

  A burning sensation stings at my forehead, and I jerk my head to stop it. Jilting forward, my focus immediately slams into Emric, who leans back just in time to keep our heads from colliding.

  But it doesn’t cease his brows from doing it.

  “Lie down,” he commands gruffly, glaring at me with the same animosity that always occupies his cogent hazel eyes.

  His brow ticks upward when I don’t straightaway do as he asks, and I raise my chin. “No.” It’s the first response that comes forthright to my brain.

  He. Is. Insane.

  I relive what he did—vividly—when he slammed his vehicle into ours. How our young driver was cursing and trying to think of a way to lose him.

  Then the truck skid, catching on the road and began to flip. It started on my side, the shattering of glass, the piercing scrape of metal along the cement that was just a door away from being my body. I remember each time we hit the ground, and one of my limbs collided with something inside the vehicle.

  Emric didn’t care if he killed us.

  He didn’t think, he just acted, and I’m lucky to be alive, however not here.

  Back in the grips of the man who executes unconventional things to persuade me to speak up, and now he’s—trying to bandage me up?

  I shift, greeted by a razor-sharp pain to my left side. My hand immediately goes to the source, but Emric seizes my wrist.

  “Don’t touch it.” He then forcefully shoves it back towards me while keeping his focus nailed on my face.

  My eyes narrow, I can’t help it because what is he mad about?

  Yes, I’m scared of him still. He’s unpredictable and a looney tune. But I’m the one who just went through a SUV being flipped in the air multiple times because of him.

  And for what?

  “Did you shoot me?”

  His forehead creases deeper as though he just got offended. “No.”

  I remember seeing Emric standing there, the headache, and achy legs. His arm was bleeding down his inked forearm, but he didn’t seem affected by it.

  My attention trails down to it, wrapped with a white bandage.

  “You should’ve picked better men to rescue you,” he chides, causing me to peer back up at him as a muscle ticks in his jaw. “Maybe we wouldn’t be here right now.”

  Yeah, because I’d be dead already if you would’ve gotten me to that cemetery.

  I shake my head, feeling a pounding in my skull every two to three seconds. “I didn’t know them prior to today.”

  “You can stop shooting for an academy award now,” he chides off a scoff then nods his head forward. “Lie back.”

  “Why?” I counter, fighting back a raging headache that is wanting to form. “Why did you save me? Why are you keeping me? I’ve told you a million times, I had nothing to do with hurting that woman. I’m not who you’re looking for. You have to—” The rest of my words are muzzled when he grabs my shirt and twists it around his fist.

  “I’m not keeping you,” he grounds out, his hazels boring into my face. His cologne clogs my nose, cedar, and a hint of weed that—for some reason—makes my body relax.

  Even with his menacing tone and lips twisting in dislike for me—I must be losing my mind right now.

  Hit my head way too hard because my belly flutters at his contact.

  “You’re not doing what I said fast enough,” Emric deadpans even though he’s still holding onto me. “You must want something.”

  My initial reaction surprises even me. My eyes latch on to his lips, and he follows where my attention goes.

  I don’t crave him.

  Even though he’s built like a brick wall and he has muscles that I never knew existed, he’s not made for me.

  But you kept staring at his dick, didn’t you?

  My nose wrinkles in pure repugnance of myself, causing Emric to tighten his hold. He may believe it’s because of him, but what does he expect? That this would create a lovely story to tell our kids?

  Ah, yes, darling, your father kidnapped me and thrusted a blade into my leg all in one night. We fell in love not long after that.

  “Did you come to a realization yet?”

  Yes, I have. Your crazy is rubbing off on me.

  “No,” I reply with zero confidence. “Nothing has changed.”

  “Figured.” He releases me and finds my hips, dragging me along the couch to a sitting position. Gathering up my bad leg, he wraps it on the other side of his body so that he’s
in between both.

  I wince at the discomfort at my side, but don’t utter a groan or ounce of anything that would hint that I’m more uncomfortable now than I was before.

  “I bet this sucks even more, huh?” He challenges me with a lift of his brow. “Wanna lie down now?” I give him a curt nod, and he backs away, letting me scoot myself to get on my back. “You don’t listen very well, do you, sweetheart?”

  Why bother at this point? And why make it easy for him?

  I’ve followed his every wish and command without question. I’m too startled and panicky when he speaks. The outcome of this situation, from where it stands, is going to end up with my death at his hands.

  Over something I wasn’t even a part of. I don’t want my ending to be with me pleading. For once in my life, I need to be brave and utter obscenities instead of just thinking them.

  The irony is that I wish I would’ve done this sooner, got into his truck, and took off into my new story that I crave so desperately.

  Inhaling a deep breath to attempt to calm myself, Emric is back in his chair and reaching to dab a cloth at my forehead.

  “What is that?”

  “Poison.” He tries it again, but I move my head for the second time. “Stormi.”

  My name is a warning. His next attempt, I let him tend to me like a child or someone he doesn’t want to die because he’s not finished with me yet.

  “Ouch!” I slap his hand away at the stinging burn that seems to sink right into the pit of the gash.

  Emric’s nostrils flare, and he stands from his chair that sits alongside the couch. His hazels glower at me as if he’s just ready to kill me and be done with it already.

  But I’m a key that he needs.

  One that unlocks nothing, but he doesn’t want to see that.

  “Don’t touch me again,” he growls, clenching the cloth in his palm.

  “Same goes for you. Keep your hands to yourself.”

  His eyes turn into slits. “Excuse the fuck out of me?”

  I bite the inside of my cheek. With him hovering over me, I’m waiting for him to hit me. For him to pull out a gun and put a bullet in my head.

  His reflection is livid, and I’m the reason. This is hopeless, being brave is utterly pointless at this moment. I’m almost wishing that if my time was up, that I would’ve gone the easy way and died instantly in that car crash.