OVERCAST (B723 Book 1)

by Hazel Grace

  I did, with my words, and I need to keep this social distancing thing between us.

  Everything is getting meshed and screwy, and I need to keep my head on straight. I have to remain on my mission and end all of this.

  “Then let me go home.” She folds her arms along her chest, still playing into the whole mom thing and beholds me with exasperation and indignation.

  “No,” I reply flatly.

  “This isn’t my business,” she snaps, throwing my words back in my face with her attempt to make a point. One that won’t work, but it’s cute that she thinks it will. “And let me get out of this mess.”

  “I said no.”

  “You said you killed guys in an SUV?”

  “Yep.”

  “Except one.”

  “Yes.”

  “Perfect.” She glides in my space like an angel whose tips of her wings are starting to turn a shade of black with the sullen grimace on her features. Using her little innocent visage to sway me to do her bidding. “Then, I guess the guys that tried to take me from you are all set and dead now, so we’re good.”

  “Don’t fucking press it, sweetheart,” I fume, tensing at the boiling in the back of my head. The monster wants to come out to play, and I’m not about to have him do things that’ll make her hate me if we’re not halfway there already. “I said no.”

  “I don’t care what you said.” She puffs out her chest and steels her shoulders. “Let. Me. Go. Emric.”

  My nostrils flare because there is another button, one she purposely pressed. “It’s fucking Marty. Use it.”

  “No.”

  “You are really encouraging my last bit of patience, and I’ve had one hell of a fucking night.”

  “I bet you have. Too bad I wasn’t the main attraction.”

  I erase another inch of space between us, using my height to intimidate her. “Oh, don’t worry, my cock deep inside you was the highlight.” Her expression flashes with rage, and something else I can’t read.

  “I’m done.”

  I shrug off her statement. “Good for you?”

  “Yeah, eventually.” Those blues well up with a gloss of wetness, and I lock my jaw tight. “Once I can get away from you, it’ll be the highlight for me. You’re too much, and I’m not getting roped into whatever the hell you are.”

  “Thanks for the clarification. I’ll make sure to make a note of it and file it away under me not giving a flying—” She’s fast to move, my cheek promptly stinging from the slap to the face that she just delivered.

  I’m pushing her away. It’s for the best. But it doesn’t stop the ache forming in my chest.

  Right where my heart’s supposed to be.

  “Anything else you wanna do?” I inquire. “Maybe knee me in the balls or stick your finger in my eye?”

  “Maybe you going to go fuck yourself?”

  I can’t help the smirk that pulls from my lips. “You wanna help with that?”

  “Absolutely, not, you stupid piece—” She stops when I lower myself to one knee and grip the waistband of her jeans.

  Yanking them down, along with her panties, she doesn’t step out of them, but I don’t need her to.

  Instead, I lift each foot to glide the denim material off. Then wrapping my arms in between her legs, I haul her up in the air, getting the back of her knees to sit on my shoulders.

  She lets out a soft squeal as my hands splay over her spine, keeping her steady and me being the only thing that keeps her from falling.

  Slamming her back into the nearest part of my wall without a picture or some stupid shit that Reagan put up, I brace her up against it.

  “Tell me no, sweetheart. You got one chance before I feast on this pussy as my breakfast because I’m fucking starving and I need a high.”

  “Fuck you.”

  I take that as a yes, licking one slow trail up from her core right to her clit. Her fingers find my hair, yanking on it to show me how pissed off she is, but—let’s be fucking real here—also turned on.

  This woman is my weakness.

  She tastes like rapture, hell, and everything I could’ve ever asked for.

  I can’t get enough, I don’t want to get to the point where it is. No matter what I tell myself is the right thing to do, just one glance at this beauty, and I’m a goner. I’m completely at her mercy, and I will gladly serve her all day and every day.

  If I was a different man.

  “Emric,” she breathes, arching herself off the wall for me to get closer.

  I bite down on her clit, enough to make my next point. “It’s Marty, say it.”

  “Marty, Marty.” I suck on her sensitive nub then tease her opening with my tongue. “God, Marty.”

  “Which one, baby? You can’t have us both.”

  “You,” she professes. “I want you.” Those three words send my animalistic urges on hyperspeed.

  I feast on this woman like she’s the last thing my tastebuds will ever get to appetize on.

  She drives me insane, both in fury and lust, two dangerous combinations when I’m having a hard enough time wrangling in my emotions for this—us. All of it is new and...

  I’ve never experienced anything like this.

  Being horny and wanting to screw a woman was a basic need however, I feel as though if I don’t have Stormi within my grasps, I’ll go insane to where no amount of killing, butchering or whatever level of fucked I want to go is going to curb it.

  “Right there,” Stormi urges as I circle her clit with only the tip of my tongue. “Yes.”

  “Feels like you like bloody ‘ole me, sweetheart.” I reach up to touch her lips for some sort of relief for myself, but she bites down on my finger to deny that she does.

  And she can lie to herself, maybe that’s her defense mechanism. It only goes to show that I’m not the only one fighting this thing.

  We can’t lie that we’re highly attracted to each other, that something in the middle fuses us into whatever mesh of fucked this is.

  Nonetheless, one of us is going to get hurt because the deeper we go, the more it’ll burn.

  Stormi lets out a pained moan, her breathing loud and uncontrolled. If it’s one thing she can remember me by, it’s this.

  Driving her crazy with fervor and greed. We both take what we want—each other—and recklessly say fuck the consequences.

  “Put me down,” she commands, still yanking on the roots of my hair.

  I smile, my nose deep in her wetness as I suck, swallow and lick her pussy. “You sure?”

  “Yes, now.” I move, dropping her body to the ground but catching her before she hits the floor. She doesn’t wrap her legs around me, and I let her slide down the length of me, feeling my hard cock graze over her stomach.

  She doesn’t acknowledge my peering down at her but focuses on the waistband of my sweats, sliding them down at record speed.

  “What are you doing?” She pulls the material down my hips with my boxers and my cock bucks free. “You better watch it, baby, I’m not in a good mood and—”

  “Shut up,” she snaps, twirling to give me her back and her sweet, plump little ass. Reaching behind her, she grips my dick and guides me closer, expecting me to navigate the rest of the way.

  I mean, she isn’t wrong.

  I’m not that strong to resist her and the clear offering of her body to get lost in.

  Especially since within seconds, I’m already inside her, rocking back and forth with my chest pressing into her back.

  Gripping the back of her head, I lace my fingers in her hair and turn her face to the side so that her cheek is pressed up against the treated wood. That and I won’t miss the opportunity to see her face when I fuck her into hell with me then back to heaven.

  “You’re making me crazy,” I growl into the side of her face, slowing down my pace so that I can fixate on how she feels around me. “And I’m pissed, so how do you think this is going to go?”

  “Hopefully, with us both coming,” she deadpan
s.

  A wicked smile plasters onto my face. “I can make that happen.”

  My idea was to go slow and drive her deranged with lust, except my pent up aggression wanted to be released.

  It demanded to own, pound, and guide us both into a delirious state of pleasure and calm.

  I couldn’t gradually slow down if I tried.

  Stormi started pleading and begging me to give her what she wanted—which was me. I enjoyed her sandwiched between me and the wall too much, giving me the perfect circumstance, to pull her off and get to her neck.

  Nestling my face and showing attention to one of her favorite spots, I whisper, “My sins are rubbing all over you, sweetheart. And deep down—” I lick up the shell of her ear. “—I think you enjoy being overcasted by what lies deep inside me.”

  “You talk too much,” she growls, propping her palms on the wall to steady herself against my thrusts.

  “I’ll say this then—” I tighten the arm wrapped around her middle. “—I’d do anything for you. I killed those men so that no one touched, saw, or even knew you existed here. I did it for my sister and nephew and that dumb as hell husband of hers. But I’d massacre anyone who laid a finger on you. You don’t have to accept it, sweetheart, but now you know it.”

  She arches her back, letting me hit her from another angle but doesn’t say a word.

  It could be mixed emotions, my words settling in, but it leaves me with an open-ended answer to a question I already know the outcome to.

  “Marty,” she finally whispers after a minute of our skin slapping, moans, growls, and my balls tingling.

  “Mhm?” My face is still burrowed into the crook of her shoulder, smelling her skin and listening to her breathing because it feels good.

  She cranes her neck, making me pull away and lock with her blues. Her lips fast track into mine, speaking for themselves, hidden and muted words that maybe she’s too scared to say.

  I’m shaken by the way I feel towards her, I’d be a fucking idiot if I denied that. I examine and piece together shit for a living, what kind of dummy would I be if I didn’t acknowledge the complicated fact that I love Stormi.

  I love my sister and Huck. I tolerate Wade and my crew at B723.

  But am I in love with her?

  What does that even mean? When does the “in” part happen? I relish being inside her, but I don’t have an infatuation with women I’ve screwed in the past. I never wanted to own and make them mine. At no time did I ever want to smash someone’s face in for looking at them like I want to do with Mills when he gets all puppy-eyed and shit.

  Is that possessiveness? Does that count?

  Stormi’s lips break from mine, and she lets out a cry as she crashes down, body becoming limp and dependent against me.

  Holding her while plunging deeper and faster, Stormi leans her head back against my shoulder, exposing her neck.

  “You were made into a weapon, and they expected you to find peace,” she mutters. “You’re not that anymore. Whether you want to admit it or not.” Her lips press into the stubble of my cheek. “I have a small piece of you.”

  “Fuck.” I uproot my dick from inside her and come in my palm, stroking it to get every last second and drop of this moment.

  Stormi twists around to face me, leaning against the wall behind her and examining me with contentment in her eyes.

  “You have nails, and you like to bite,” I taunt through labored breaths. “What else do you like to do to me, Stormi, with no middle name.”

  She smiles. “Nothing.”

  “I beg to differ, sweetheart.” I kiss her forehead. “I’ll make us some breakfast when I jump out of the shower.” I start to head that way, but she halts me mid-step with her next words.

  “Are you going to kill the other man?”

  I peer over my shoulder to consider her through furrowed brows. She’s never going to let this go, and I’m not going to change.

  We’re at a crossroads—been there, really—and one of us has to make the trip without looking back.

  I nod and straighten my spine. “Yeah, eventually.”

  “I’m never going to be okay with you killing other people, Marty.”

  “Are they good people?” We stare at each other, ethics and pride clashing together in a perfect cocktail of the facts. I talk a big game, but I’m anxious about her answer even though it’s at the tip of her tongue.

  We’re not good for each other.

  I can’t keep her from the evils of my life, and she wants to start over. And this isn’t what she imagined in her head.

  “I don’t kill innocent people. I obliterate threats to this country. Men and women who would trade secrets for money and blow up towns to wage war on others. Politics is a very shady game, sweetheart, I’m just the one who takes out the trash.” I step towards her, enclosing on her personal space again. “Because without me, we could have enemies overtake this country and sell you for a horse. There would be men who’d tame and claim you in ways that I’d never do to you. I’m the movement in the shadows, baby. You just don’t like seeing the aftermath.”

  “Killing isn’t right,” she mutters.

  “Then who’s going to stop the bad men, Stormi? You asking nicely with your sweet voice and face of a fucking angel? That won’t work. This is the world we live in. And right now, mine is revenge. Call it bullshit and injustice, but Reagan is all I have. So, yeah, our beliefs are different. But the cops move too slow for me, and these people against my sister just proved they won’t stop until she’s gone.”

  “I...I don’t...want you hurt.” Her lashes flutter, trying to keep her emotions in check. But unlike her, I’m good with keeping mine from ever leaving the surface.

  “I won’t,” I reply. “And you won’t be either. Because when this is done, Stormi won’t exist. I’m getting you a new life, identity, the whole thing. You keep your light, sweetheart. I’m not going to be the one to darken it.”

  The strobe lights of purple and blue clash against each other, and the bodies packed on the main floor of Dougie’s. Sipping on my tequila, I patiently sit at the bar and watch Bianca, nicknamed Bunni, swing around a pole in a neon green thong. Her blonde hair seductively tumbles down her spine, and from here, if I wasn’t paying attention and didn’t study Stormi’s body like I do at every waking moment, I’d say the woman I fucked upstairs in my cabin two days ago was dancing to Bandz A Make Her Dance by Juicy J.

  Bianca is a tad taller, her face a little rounder and their body shape similar except Stormi doesn’t have a tramp stamp on her back, and Bianca’s hips aren’t as curvy. It causes me to buy another tequila shot and send another glare at the woman behind the bar who won’t stop asking me if I wish to see the VIP.

  I do. Just not with her.

  I’ve already made my request from one of the bouncers that I want Bianca in my secluded room that I’ve rented for an hour with no disturbances. I won’t need said hour, more like ten minutes, but that’s the going rate for some alone time with any stripper here.

  My shot glass is quickly filled with zero words from the forty-year-old woman who believes she can still swing a twenty-year-old cock. There are plenty of those around here for her to choose from, just not me because I’m thirty-two and not interested in any brunettes at this time.

  Downing my drink in one swallow, I throw a ten-dollar bill on the bartop and slide off my barstool just to run into another body.

  Honey-brown eyes and red hair, a woman grins ear to ear at me but doesn’t move.

  Instead, she tucks a piece of hair behind her ear and apparently is waiting for me to say something.

  “Can I help you?” I finally ask as the song overheard is close to ending. Which means Bianca will be summoned to my room with hopes of making a shitload of money for sucking and riding my dick. She’ll be doing things, just not in the capacity she’s planning.

  “Yeah,” the woman quips. “You can buy me a drink.”

  “I won’t be buying you a drink,
but I can give you a tip—” I bump into her frame to get her to move and say, “—don’t take shit from strangers, dumbass.”

  I hear her scoff, scandalized that I wasn’t desperate enough to wait for her to pretend to be drunk so that she won’t feel so bad if we fucked.

  Striding through the crowded space, I make my way down a dark hall, watching the numbers on the doors increase. I create room for an older man and another redhead with barely anything on to squeeze through to get back to the main floor, more than likely done with their “session”.

  Opening up room number six, the space is small with only a plush red couch and coffee table with a bucket of ice, two flutes, and a bottle of champagne. It’s fitting because I can finally celebrate catching the woman that was supposed to be caught all along.

  Dance (A$$) by Big Sean starts up next as I take a seat, inwardly cringing at the thought of how often these couches are cleaned and how much cum is on this fabric.

  Knowing that I have about another minute, I pull out my phone and text Bishop outside.

  Me: Be ready. This won’t take long.

  Bishop: A little confident, aren’t we?

  Me: Never had any problems before.

  Bishop: Mhm, you have a problem living in your house right now.

  This motherfucker.

  It’s apparent that everyone—Mills, Bish-fuck, and Emmy—have noticed that Stormi is pissed at me. And I’ve been acting like a bitch because I don’t come up to the house anymore to see the disappointment in her eyes. Not until I know she’s asleep or in her room anyway.

  Me: Worry about yourself, dick wipe.

  Me: And don’t be an asshole Uber driver either.

  Me: Matter of fact, don’t talk at all.

  The door to the room opens, displaying a now somewhat dressed Bianca in a matching green bra and a crooked smile. Her eyes trail down the length of me and lands on my crotch through parted legs before stepping inside and closing it.

  Apparently, she likes what she sees.