OVERCAST (B723 Book 1)

by Hazel Grace

  “It’s official—” Emmy slides her laptop along the top of the picnic table we’re sitting on and points at the screen. “—Mayor Montgomery is dead, shanked sixty-two times.”

  The page blends of blue, black, and white, but I don’t need to read it to confirm the details.

  Emmy’s words are enough to send a rush of relief and trepidation through my veins.

  I don’t know which emotion to settle on, one where I crack a beer and relax because the job is done or to plan. Preparing and prepping for Stormi to begin her new journey, one that is long overdue and promised.

  I told her the night I found out that she wasn’t behind Reagan’s attack that I’d help her start a squeaky clean life with a brand new identity.

  I’ll make good on my promise.

  I just don’t want to.

  My focus flicks over the screen, and I watch Stormi playing a game of horseshoes with Mills in a white dress with some floral shit on it. The fabric goes mid-thigh, flowing aimlessly with the small breeze that’s making its way through the trees. Her light blue hair is pulled back in a ponytail, reminding me how lively she’s become and how sweet she is.

  A tight twist forms in my stomach as she laughs at something Mills says, and it’s not the fact that the douchebag has a crush but because I’ll miss her voice. It’s contagious, getting Emmy to peer up herself to look at her.

  “She’ll be safe now,” she states, closing down her computer. Stormi tosses a heavy shoe and barely makes it halfway to the stake. Her aim sucks, but her laugh and the way she mirrors a sun goddess makes up for it. “Did you teach her how to shoot a gun?”

  Mills gestures for her to take a few steps forward to get closer, and she gives it another try, going way too far to the right. Stormi needs someone with way more patience than me.

  And I’ve said it once and, fuck me, I’m going to say it again, but she was meant to be with someone like Mills. A dude that can make her smile and not have to watch her next steps from some broody asshole like me. A man that can give her kids and not bring danger to her doorstep.

  Now, Mills is out of the running on that alone, but still, if the tables were turned and I gave them the opportunity to get closer, he’d be balls deep inside her.

  And he’d probably never let her go.

  However, I’m in love with her, and that in itself is extraordinary.

  How couldn’t I?

  As much as she fights with herself about what I do, she accepts me. Whether she wants to admit it outloud or not—it doesn’t matter. What does is that she wants me.

  And I want the shit out of her too.

  It’s what’s making this decision so hard. It’s also why I haven’t told her shit yet about the situation with Montgomery being dead because I didn’t want to rock the boat if we weren’t in the clear yet.

  But now that we might be, I have some choices to make.

  “Yeah,” I deadpan, reaching for my zippo lighter in my jean pocket.

  “I also ran Montgomery’s offshore and personal bank accounts,” Emmy tells me. “A nice amount came out and to several other accounts a few days before Reagan’s attack at the lake. Then when they came to the house the second time. I think it’s safe to say he was the kingpin behind it.”

  “Did you trace the accounts the cash went to?”

  “Yep.”

  “I want the ones that I haven’t killed yet, dead.”

  A brief silence permeates between us, and I’m waiting for her to be against it. To bitch at me to let it go because Reagan and everyone else is safe now.

  “Okay,” she finally states. “I’ll see if Kyson is around. When do you want me to call Wade and tell him the coast is clear?”

  “I’ll call Reagan,” I reply, watching Stormi give Mills a gentle shove for probably teasing her.

  Normally I’d tally up how many times I was going to punch him in the head for fucking with her, but right now, I’m content with her enjoying herself when I have to put a crossroads in between us.

  Stormi runs to the other side of the yard to grab her shoes, her hair swinging side to side as Mills marches behind.

  I’ve contemplated it back and forth, the idea of giving her an option to stay with me. To open up on how I feel and set myself up for possible heartache. It’s better than never knowing. Shit, I’d rather take a “no” over always wondering.

  “I did what you asked me to do,” Emmy voices, twirling around her beer bottle. “It’s all ready when you are.”

  “I’m still...deciding.” Another punch, the similar effect of wanting to cower over and try to breathe normally again.

  Everything is in place—a new identity, home, money in a bank account with one push of a button. Stormi will be set up with everything she needs to begin a fresh future.

  I just won’t be in it.

  And I can live with that, if that’s what she wants to do, mine will just never be the same.

  Nothing will ever beat, function, or feel right if Stormi leaves me. I’m afraid of what it’ll do. If I can handle it or if it’ll set me back deeper into the dark abyss of neglect and more fucked up ways to torture someone.

  I know that I’ll never want to take another woman as an assignment. Even through the torment and pain, I’ll still remember Stormi and how we started. I’ll forever hear her pleas and possibly be either more lenient or violent towards them. I have zero fucking clue where my brain is going to go, and that should be terrifying enough.

  “You already know my concerns.” Emmy picks at the label on the glass bottle. “It’ll have major—”

  “No one asked for your concerns,” I chide, reaching inside my back pocket for the small container that I hold my blunt in. “Where’s Bishop?”

  “Don’t know. He won’t answer his phone or any of my text messages.”

  I flick my zippo, watching Bishop’s favorite element appear and blaze. “What about the commander? Has he hear—”

  “No,” she quickly conveys. “Nothing. No one has heard from him.”

  Hovering my hash over the fire, I inhale, watching the end turn into red embers before doing it again, letting the cannabis filter through my lungs and headspace.

  “He doesn’t go AWOL,” I assert off an exhale. “Something is up.”

  “He’s a big boy.”

  “You sure about that?” I hand her over my blunt. “He has the temper of a five-year-old. Imagine that when he’s upset. Have you ever seen him upset? He’s a fucking lunatic.”

  “I’m not his keeper,” she replies, blowing smoke out from her lips. “One of his many hoes can keep tabs on him.”

  “Have you called one or—” Her neck snaps in my direction, brown eyes narrowed at me.

  “Do I look like I know who he sleeps with?”

  I perk a brow. “Uhh...no? But hasn’t he slept with Blue?” The expression that blooms off Em’s face appears like she’s about to shove my weed down my throat with it lit and watch me choke to death on the contents. “What?”

  “He slept with Blue?”

  Eh, shit.

  I figured since everyone knew everyone else’s crap in B723 that Emmy would’ve known that Bishop hooked up with the other woman in our squad.

  Blue was something else. A fiery redhead who gave zero shits about what people thought of her and took what she wanted, no matter the consequences.

  She’s bat-shit crazy.

  The exact opposite of Emmy and her analytical self.

  Where Em is conscious about other’s feelings, Blue will call you a bitch and tell you to get your life together.

  Someone Bishop wouldn’t have to worry about catching feelings for him. Blue isn’t that kind of gal.

  “I...think so,” I slowly reply. “Mills mentioned—” Emmy’s hand jerks up to my face, silencing me as she engulfs one more hit of hash before handing it back. Her whole body begins to tremble, shaking the bench seat we’re both on. “The hell is your problem, Em?”

  “Dude, Blue?” My brows knit together i
n confusion because who the fuck cares. “She’s a walking train wreck. Put those two together, and you have a hot mess.”

  “You talking about the mess when she slept with your brother?”

  “Two of my brothers,” she retorts sharply. “I invite the bitch for a BBQ, and she literally fucks my family.”

  I mean...I can’t say I blame her. If any of the dudes at B723 screwed Reagan, I’d dismember them, drill holes into their eyes for even looking at her, and bust their skulls in with my Louisville Slugger.

  “Am I wrong?” Emmy presses. “I mean, damn, have some respect.”

  “No,” I recite. “Because you know how I felt when I found out that Wade was fucking my sister, but...any other reason why you don’t like her?”

  Em’s face twists. “As in?”

  “I don’t know.” I lift my shoulders. “Maybe you have a thing for Bishop?” A crazy little cackle escapes her chest, and she hits me with an incredulous look.

  “Uh, I’m good, and didn’t you just say he was a lunatic? Besides, I’m dating that one dude, Xavier.”

  “Dude, you’re serious?”

  She shrugs. “As a heart attack.”

  “Wade’s assistant.”

  Her eyes bore into me. “He’s the lieutenant governor, asshole.”

  “You know that dude is going to go bald, right?” I take another pull at my blunt and watch Emmy hit me with a scowl.

  “What are you a fucking physic?”

  “Um, no, his hairline is a pretty good indicator of—” She punches me in the arm, instantly making it numb.

  “Stop,” she bellows off a chuckle. “Why do you guys always dog the dudes I show interest in.”

  “Because your taste sucks.”

  “Well, I’m not going to date any of your dumbasses, so I guess that leaves me with everyone else.”

  “I don’t know, Mills is always following you around and—” She hits me again, in the same fucking spot. “Ouch, fuck, woman.”

  “Then quit being foul, you sick fuck. He’s like a brother to me.”

  “But not blood, so that means you can—” She moves again, but this time I’m quicker, leaning back, which gets her to stop. “Alright, alright, I’m done. But Wade’s cool with it?”

  She pushes her lips out, which wrinkles her nose. Which is the only indicator I need.

  Wade doesn’t know.

  I chuckle. “Ohhh, Em. You’re so fucked when he finds out.”

  She shrugs then crosses her arms. “He’s not my boss anymore.”

  “Don’t you still run favors for him?”

  “Exactly—” She finger-guns me. “—a favor.”

  I lift a brow. “That’s your loophole? Not going to fly with that asshole. He’s going to ream you out so bad that—”

  “Enough of the lecturing, please. I’ll be fine.”

  “Yeah, but it’s Lockwood. He’ll throw his entitlement around and—” Another punch to my arm and Stormi’s voice comes through like a reality check.

  “Hey!” Walking in our direction with Mills in tow, her eyes are nailed on Emmy. “Quit hitting him.” I smile at her concern when I’m the one who filets people up for a living. “You’re going to cause more damage to his already screwed upstate.”

  I frown—so much for that.

  “I don’t think he’s fixable, girl,” Emmy asserts. “His assholeness will always get in the way. Along with his bossiness.”

  Stormi props her thigh on the edge of the picnic table, keeping somewhat of a distance from me because she knows I’ll reach out and give zero fucks about who’s around. Our eyes lock before she flicks her attention to the pain in the ass next to me.

  “I’m hungry. You wanna help me make dinner?”

  I really wish she wouldn’t say simple shit like that.

  I’m famished but only for her. And that sundress that Emmy bought for her helps nothing.

  It makes me think of the possibility of a life. A home that consists of her and a lifetime of Stormi being mine. Not just because she’s here against her wishes but because we made the decision to try this together without anything hovering over our heads.

  “Let’s do it.” Emmy twists her body to swing her legs from underneath the table and smacks me upside the head before linking her arm with my tormentor.

  Stormi, however, doesn’t budge an inch, remaining exactly where she is—eyes back on mine.

  “I’ll be just a sec,” she conveys.

  Emmy nods, walking off, and Mills doesn’t stick around to bother me, surprisingly, following her inside the cabin.

  “What’s wrong?” Stormi leans over, worry laced in her tone and elbows resting on the tabletop before propping her chin on her palm.

  “You know if Mills turns around, he’s going to see your ass in that dress,” I reply with a perked brow. She quickly straightens before motioning me to scooch over so she can sit down.

  Straddling the bench seat, she does the same, and we sit face to face, not only with each other but things that lie in between us. The truth that I now need to tell her. The decision that hovers over my head like a raincloud, fucking with my mood and feelings that have developed.

  I’m not ready to face the reality that we have to talk about her leaving. I just want a little more time.

  “Why do you look so upset?” Stormi presses, her brows knitted together. Her hand falls on top of mine, and she squeezes, tiny fingers having such a rippling effect on my facade.

  “I’m not, sweetheart.” I brush the sides of her chin with the pads of my fingers, reveling in the softness of her skin and how I might not have many more opportunities like this.

  Fuck, I’m going to miss her.

  My stomach knots harder in warning that this is going to hurt. I’m aware of what the right answer is, what would be best for her.

  Except my wicked, selfish side is all about keeping what I’ve claimed and not letting anyone else touch it.

  I come with baggage. A bag of tools and torture techniques that she’d have to lie about to other people when asked about what I do. I have to travel and stay in places for weeks at a time. I can’t give her everything she deserves and needs.

  “Did you have fun playing horseshoes?” I ask, changing the subject in both my head and this conversation.

  Stormi scoffs and looks heavenward. “I sucked.”

  “It was your first time.” I give her hand a squeeze as she plays with the hem of her dress. I never comprehended how something like this—sitting in my backyard and holding hands with a pretty girl—could feel so good. And I’m glad it’s with her.

  “Can we have a movie night tonight?” Stormi suddenly asks, giving my hand a gentle shake. “I can make popcorn.”

  I raise my brows. “How much of it do you honestly think we’re going to watch?” Stormi smiles, big and bright, adorable as hell.

  I’m so beyond the word fucked that there isn’t anything in this world that’s going to make this okay for me.

  “Please,” she begs, bringing both her hands together in silent prayer.

  My cock twitches, recalling that this is how it all started. Her pleas as she peered up at me in fear, tears glossed over in her crystal blues. I’d never want to see her cry now.

  Hell, I’d kill anyone that made her do so, but it doesn’t stop the sick part of me.

  “Whatever you want to do,” I tell her. “But no Mills or Emmy.”

  Her face falls. “Aww...but Emmy wanted to watch How To Lose a Guy in 10 days. It’s something she said I needed to see.”

  “I’m sure she could just tell you how to do that instead of showing you a movie.”

  Stormi hits my chest playfully. “Marty! That’s mean.”

  “It’s the truth.”

  “I like her.”

  “You would, she lets you do whatever you want to do.”

  Stormi inches closer to me, making our knees touch. “So do you.”

  Her lips curl into a smile at the thought of the other day when she rode my c
ock, and it took every ounce of strength I’ve ever possessed in my existence to not flip her over and fuck her until she cried.

  “I want to get away, “ I convey, leaning in. “Me and you. Let’s go somewhere.”

  Her face lights up. “Where?”

  “I’ll figure it out. Just say you want to go.”

  “Yes!” Her lips crack into a full-blown grin. “Of course, I want to go.”

  “Perfect. Now give me a kiss and go make me dinner.” Stormi’s eyes playfully narrow before I clamp both sides of her face with my hands and pull her to me, pressing my lips to hers.

  She melts against my touch, prying my mouth wider for her to sneak her tongue in as a growl breaks from my chest. My palms cradling her head to keep her here—with me—for just another second longer before anything else changes.

  “You know we haven’t fucked on this picnic table yet,” I mutter into her plush mouth. “Wanna try?”

  “If you watch the movie with us like a good boy, then yeah,” she replies. “We can do anything you want.”

  “Don’t say that,” I caution. “You know I’m unstable.”

  “I know.” She brushes her lips against mine. “That’s what I’m beginning to love about you.”

  We drove four hours until we hit another patch of woods that was just minutes outside a small city called Silver Lake. Marty refused to disclose where we were going, telling me that as long as we weren’t around the others, it didn’t matter.

  He wasn’t wrong.

  I’d go across the country with him if it meant listening to music with the windows down and him holding my hand. The stolen kisses he took when we stopped for gas and the way his hands always had to be somewhere on my body. Another adventure with Marty, something I’d never forget and always want to look back upon.

  When we arrived at our surprise destination, I couldn’t help the giant smile that broke free. It was the most romantic and charming place—next to Marty’s cabin—that I’ve ever seen.

  Covered in a dark navy blue siding and white trim, the little house has a porch that extends along the whole front with patio furniture and beautiful pink flowers bordering the edge. A willow tree freely sits next to it, accompanying the scenery of a lake in the back, glistening against the sun’s rays.