OVERCAST (B723 Book 1)

by Hazel Grace

  Emmy has been trying to keep me occupied, but I know it’s Marty’s doing that she’s here still.

  Last night on what she called our “girl’s night,” she brought me several boxes of hair dye, dared me to take hold of my life and make a change.

  And with that in mind, I went for the blue because I remember Marty whispering in my ear how much he loved the color of my eyes. However, that was in the spur of the moment of us having sex, and why wouldn’t he fill my head up with compliments.

  Because he’s a man with no attachments, that’s why. And why I decided to listen to them is a whole other muddle of screwed up.

  He doesn’t owe me a thing besides my freedom. I never stuck to my guns and kept my distance until the time was ready.

  This is half my fault.

  Half my issue because I’m an idiot, and I started to fall for the man who made my life a living hell but then turned it around. I made an assumption that I was something different to him. He just said what he needed to make me feel good.

  Getting away from the house, I’ve been walking around the shoreline of the lake and taking in Reagan’s landscaping. I found a small trail through the woods that opens up into a narrow cove-like space with toys that I believe are Huck’s. He has a plastic little castle with a homemade flag sticking out from one of the towers, a picnic table, and a bunch of dump trucks and cranes. The trees overhead keep out most of the sun, but streams fall to the ground, making it look almost magical and, above all, peaceful.

  “I’m not trying to sneak up on you, it’s Mills,” states a voice behind me. I twirl around to see him approach with his friendly smile and a bottle of water. “It’s hot out here, woman.”

  “And the house is less than a football field away.”

  He squints at me. “You know there are animals out here, right?”

  “As long as they maul me quickly, I’m good with it.”

  “Oh, hell no,” Mills chides with a shake of his head. “Are you becoming a Debbie Downer?”

  “No.”

  “What’s wrong?” He hands me the water bottle, and I gladly take it. “What did the douchebag do now?”

  “Why does something have to be wrong? And why are you assuming that it’s him?” I twist the cap and take a hefty swig, watching Mills watch me.

  “Because you look like someone killed your puppy.” I hit him with an exasperated look. “Bishop told me what happened.”

  My gut knots at the mention of it—what happened.

  This is so stupid.

  “Then why are you asking me? And you guys gossip more than girls.”

  “Because I thought you’d tell me,” he replies off a shrug, almost looking disappointed that I didn’t. “And Bishop loves to watch people suffer, he’s a sick fuck.” He looms closer, studying me for something. “You know...there’s a way to get payback.”

  I quirk a brow at the mischievous expression that just shaded over his features. “Do you have a one-way ticket out of here?”

  “No, but I have one hell of a pair of lips and a tiny crush that says I can make you feel something else.”

  “A what?” I squeeze the water bottle, hearing the crush of plastic underneath my fingertips, and I quickly recant my actions to keep my shock in check.

  “Oh yeah,” Mills continues nonchalantly. “I’ve been crushing on you since day one.”

  I blush, that darn thing always comes at the worst times. “Um...you—”

  “Never gave me a shot, though. I mean, I get it—” He lets out an inaudible exhale from his lips, but his chest heaves downward. “—Marty is all mysterious and shit but, I’m funny. And I’m not that bad looking.”

  “No, but I’m not that kind of girl.”

  “What kind of girl is that?” His eyes squint, and he tilts his head like I’m insane for acting like a girl who just time-warped out of the ‘40s. As though I’m waiting faithfully for my beau to come home from the war or some crap.

  “The one who—” I wave a hand dismissively in the air. “—does things like that.”

  “Who’ll know? We’ll see if we’re good at it, and if we are, you can think about it.”

  “Think about what?” My heart begins erratically thrashing in my chest.

  I’m not scared of Mills.

  In fact, he’d be the last person I’d be afraid of.

  However, I don’t know if I’m built to kiss two guys in one week.

  “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to get back at Marty for some shit in the past.” He playfully winks at me, his boyish looks making him look completely innocent. “Call it brotherly love.” He peers around the encasement of trees around us. “Wanna thank me for taking care of you then?”

  “Mills.” I narrow my eyes at his brown hair and the subtle stubble on his jawline. “Are you guilt tripping me now?”

  He bends over, fighting back his smirk, and turns his face away, exposing his cheek to me. “I’m ready.”

  I hesitate before moving, clasping both sides of his face and planting a soft kiss to the scruff of his cheek. He moves in my grasp, making our lips parallel to each others’. His gray eyes search mine, looking for permission because he’d never take without it.

  That’s one thing I like about Mills, he’s always been nothing but respectful. Someone I wish I would’ve met sooner. A man that would be a better fit for me minus whatever it is that he does with Marty and the gang.

  I abolish the space, connecting my lips to his because curiosity got the best of me and screw everything else.

  I don’t owe anyone an explanation.

  I never experimented or made huge mistakes growing up, so I’ll do them now. I’m already on a good path for it.

  Mills’ mouth moves delicately, learning and feeling, his gentle approach making me feel comfortable in his space. Taking another chance, I open my lips wider, giving him the opportunity to take this joining to the next level or keep it PG-rated.

  He takes it without hesitation, his tongue swirling around mine, and an urge to moan through his expertise of kissing flicks at my throat.

  Damn Mills.

  Hands find my hips as he straightens to his full height which is perfect. With Marty, I have to tip my feet to reach his mouth. With Mills, I still have to crane my neck, but this position of my throat being fully exposed and still being completely grounded to the dirt underneath me—I like it.

  We find our rhythm, starting to get the hang of each other’s speed when he suddenly disappears to my surprising dismay. My eyes fly open, expecting him to be smiling down at me or looking at me like that didn’t do anything for him.

  But instead, it’s Marty’s murderous features that stand in front of me, twisted in the most furious and defeated I’ve ever seen him. It hurls me back into our first week or so together, the look of destruction that lit up his face.

  That’s how he’s looking at me right now.

  And when I think he’s about to open his mouth to let me have it, he turns, his fist flying into Mills’ face.

  “Marty!” I exclaim, stepping in to stop him, but they both merge further away from me.

  And Mills just stands there and takes it.

  “You’re fucking dead.” That from Marty again as he rashly swings. Mills dodges it this time, but I don’t miss the wide smirk on his face.

  He did this on purpose.

  I don’t know if I should feel betrayed that he set me up or disappointed that he didn’t really want to kiss me.

  “Now, buddy,” Mills rebukes, extending his hands in mute defeat. “She’s not your girl.” Marty lunges for him, but Mills expects it and steps to the side.

  “She’s not yours either,” Marty fumes. “And stand the hell still.”

  “Calm down.” The humor in Mills’ voice isn’t helping him right now, but I don’t think he could hide it if he tried. He’s playing with danger but, then again, Mills isn’t just a buddy that Marty met in college or something. Mills is just as peril and cunning as he is.


  I just haven’t seen that side of him.

  It’s as though he puts on a facade and uses his carefree and humorous nature to keep that piece of him hidden.

  They begin circling each other, eyes pinned on one another, and I cross my arms in distaste.

  Mills is right, I’m not his girl. Is this childish, yep, but I can kiss who I want when I want. And if Marty is cool with making out with the girl that pretty much almost killed his sister, then I can lock lips with the guy who brought me down a cupcake and a blanket.

  What sounds more legit to you?

  I don’t have a petty bone in my body, but I’m forming one right now. I just hope Mills’s face doesn’t get rearranged in the process.

  Marty rushes Mills then, plowing his broad shoulder into Mills’ stomach. My buddy—Mills—hurls his elbow into Marty’s back to get him to loosen his grip, but my tormentor is too lost in rage, that he believes he has the right to have and doesn’t let go.

  In fact, his fist is formed around the hunter green shirt that Mills is wearing and lands a punch into his temple. I didn’t realize I moved until my own hand wraps around Marty’s, and I’m heaving him backward with every ounce of strength that I possess.

  Mills isn’t going to pay for what I wanted to do.

  “Get off him!” I holler, giving Mills the space he needs to gain some freedom of not getting hit again.

  Marty unexpectedly whirls around to face me, causing me to cower back a step.

  His features blaze with outrage and displeasure as he ascends over me in all his muscular glory.

  “Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he leers. “I didn’t forget about you.”

  Goosebumps line my arms, grouped with the hairs standing on ends in warning. I’m playing with a menace that won’t hurt me physically, but he’s already started mentally, and I let him.

  Pivoting around, I stride through the thick brush of weeds and ferns. I don’t care if I catch ticks or poison ivy, I’m exhausted with being back and forth in my feelings.

  If I get lost, at least I’ll die in peace and quiet.

  “You owe me, Cinderella!” I hear Mills’ voice bellow from where I left them. Then I hear the rustling and cracking of sticks underneath Marty’s boots because who else would it be?

  I can’t outrun him, tried that before.

  The only way to get this over with is to face the music, let him have his say, and be done with it.

  Problem is, Marty likes to have the last word.

  Turning around, Marty hurls back a branch in his way and zeros in on me.

  “Touch me,” I warn. “And I’m going to knee you in the balls.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” he retorts. “It still doesn’t make me want you less.”

  My face twists. “You’re sick.”

  “I am.” He stops within a foot or so from me. “And you’re the only thing that makes me feel better.”

  “Go run to Bianca,” I digress with a wave of my hand. “She’ll spread her legs for anything, and I’m no longer interested.”

  “And you were before?” He cocks a brow like the idiot he is because I’m not saying it now. “Don’t say things like that to me, sweetheart.”

  “Marty,” I growl out as he takes a singular step forward. “Leave me alone. Leave Mills alone. Leave—”

  “You don’t get to issue out orders when it comes to my guys.”

  “And you don’t get to stop me from—”

  “I swear to fuck—” His expression dangerously darkens. “—if you say kissing, I’ll do something I’ll really regret.”

  I square my body, ready to defend myself and my pride.

  He pricked it. He created jealousy to course through my veins over a situation that I let go too far.

  This is what I deserve.

  I should’ve held on to recalling all the things he did to me. The cuts and wounds, the remembrance of not being able to breathe because my head was held in a bucket of water.

  This isn’t right.

  “You trying to get back at me?” Marty drawls, a muscle in his jaw tightening. “Alright fine, message received. But that’s it, Stormi, no more hidden rendevous in the fucking woods where you think I’m not going to find you.”

  “Why were you looking for me?” I challenge. “I thought you’d be too busy getting your dick sucked so that Bianca—”

  “Enough,” he storms out, his voice hitting off the trees and at all angles of my body. “I told you...we just kissed.”

  “And what did she do?” His nostrils flare, and I know there’s more. Bianca just wasn’t that girl that would make out and not expect things to go somewhere before coming to his house.

  He did something.

  “I offered her a grand to leave with me,” he replies.

  “And, again, what did she do? She isn’t going to walk up to you and agree.”

  His eyes slit. “How would you know? Were you there?” I remain silent, giving him this one chance to either say it or watch me walk away. “She played with herself and had me jerk on my cock.”

  I bite down on my tongue to keep from losing my mind and the next words to leave my mouth. That would show things I didn’t want him to see.

  No matter how much he may have not been into it, he still did it.

  He did it to lure her so that he could get revenge on his sister.

  “Okay,” I state, shoving back any qualms of forgiveness or reason. “Good to know.”

  “And while we’re on the subject of things we did while not in the midst of each other,” he provokes. “What did you do with Mills?”

  “When?” That has his palm on my chest before he’s shoving me hard into the tree trunk behind me.

  He keeps his height straightened, using it to keep me pinned in between two solid surfaces.

  “When...as in there has been more than one of these instances.” He doesn’t pose it as a question but a fact that doesn’t exist.

  I raise my chin. “I’d like to go back to the house.”

  “I’m sure you would. Now that I have you backed into a corner...or a tree.”

  “It really doesn’t matter, though.”

  “Doesn’t it? You think I was just going to pass you around to Bishop and Mills?”

  “No, but—”

  “While you’re here—” He lowers his head, and my palms grip the bark of the tree. “—you’re mine. When you leave, you can have that freedom I promised. But for now—” He brushes a piece of stray hair away from my face then cups my cheek. “—no one touches you but me.”

  “And if I don’t want you to?”

  “Then okay,” he replies, his lips hover an inch over mine. “If you don’t want me to kiss you or have you riding my cock while my tongue—”

  “I liked having sex with you, Marty, but that has nothing to do with—”

  “So, you just like me for my dick?” A hum resonates off his chest as though he just realized something. “Alright, Harley Quinn, I’ll make a note of that.”

  “Harley Quinn?”

  “Yeah, because you’re fucking crazy. Almost suicidal, really, since you thought it’d be a great idea to lock lips with my partner. But it’s okay, sweetheart, I’ll keep your secret. You don’t mind me as much as you think you do, your morals are in the way. But once you let those down and see it for what it is, you might just fit in.”

  “Within this?” I shrink back into the rigid bark of the tree, letting it dig into my spine. “I’ll never be part of this.”

  “You’ve never thought about it?”

  I have—a lot.

  I could see myself living in this cabin and becoming good friends with Reagan. I could picture cooking dinner for Marty and his chest meeting my back as he kisses my neck while I attempt to focus on the food. I can imagine us in bed and on the couch, kissing, touching, and making love.

  But we don’t make love.

  We screwed around multiple times in one night and then in the hallway. And we’ll keep it just like that. No need
to make this situation worse than it already is.

  “You fucked me against a wall with blood on your chest,” I voice. “Then the next day you come tumbling in with the woman who got me here. I don’t think about anything anymore.”

  ‘Cause if I do, it’ll destroy me for anyone else.

  “Names,” I prod for the third time, blowing out smoke from my mouth. “Need names, dude.”

  “I don’t know,” Tony Bendarzy mutters in exhaustion, his head hung low on his chest. “I was...just hired.” His words are barely above a whisper, being awake for over thirty-two hours straight will do that to a person, I guess.

  And he’s lucky that’s he’s getting this brand of torture over what his buddy got.

  Bishop, Mills, Em and I have been making rounds, making sure he doesn’t fall asleep. Every time he does, we all get creative with it.

  I’ve been privy to a blow an air horn and popping him in the stomach with a baseball bat every time he closes his eyes. Keeping the splattering of blood at a minimum because I don’t want Stormi to get upset, more so than she already is.

  Emmy has been blasting music from God knows what boy band, which is extra torture on its own.

  Mills hooked him up to a car battery and kept shocking him.

  And Bishop, poor Tony has burn marks all over his clothing and skin.

  This is round two for Tony and me, and my patience is wearing thin on the repeating of the same fucking questions. We’ve found cell phones in the SUVs, but they’ve been wiped clean of any text messages or phone calls. Emmy can’t find anything hidden on them, and nothing runs back to a tower, which means no conversation was longer than five minutes, and they were meticulous on leaving anything behind.

  And since everyone else is dead that arrived on scene, it only leaves Tony to give me what I want. Bianca can only hand over information about the first attempted attack on Reagan.

  Tony is fresh, new, and quickly becoming a waste of time. I’m starting to believe that I chose the wrong person to keep breathing.

  Taking another hit of my blunt, I lean back on the two legs of my chair and watch Tony struggle to stand. He’s chained to the ceiling just like Hollis and Stormi’s dad, but at least we gave them a break. Tony isn’t getting that leisure.