Page 213 of Overcast

He still isn’t listeningto what I’m saying—I told him to step away from Stormi because his presence surrounding her is fucking with my patience.

“That’s why you chose people with everything to lose. And you, my friend, are going to lose a lot of shit today.”

This entitled little prick looks me up and down like I’m beneath him.

In a way, I guess I am. But not in the way he wants to fuck with.

He can think he can step on me like I’m a piece of gum on his shoe that he can throw out, but I’ll waste this shithead quicker than Fat Joe’s music career.

“What do you want?” I leer. “You obviously don’t do this.”

This being kidnapping, killing.

The kid isn’t pushing past Reagan’s age, and the last time he probably picked up a knife was when he was buttering a croissant or cutting into his wrists because being a rich fuck was hard.

I flick my eyes to his wrists—nothing.

So he’s a pussy.

I already gathered that off the impeccable ironing on his white pants—is that still a thing—and his haircut looks more expensive than my whole outfit.

“Do what?”

“I won’t bother you with the gory details of what this is,” I reply. “I asked you what it is you want.”

Eli–I’ll give him credit—he’s unbothered by the way I can pounce on his ass and get at least four to five good shots on him before I get shot or my ass kicked by King Kong and Andre the Giant behind me.

Both of them are ugly fuckers with AK-47s strapped to their backs like Rambo and two handguns at the waist.

I’m going to beat the shit out of Bishop if I get out of this for bailing on me. I could use his muscle and height right about now.

“I want you to pick,” Eli deadpans.

We both stare at each other for a hot minute before I give, my temper begging to be released for just a split second.

“Are you the Riddler or some shit, spit it out,” I snap.

He sighs, appearing bored before he motions with his hand. “Bring Reagan back in.”

“Move,” I sneer.

Eli perks a perfectly-shaped brow. “Excuse me?”

I move closer, fisting my hands to stay put because they have to. I can’t make any dumb ass decisions, even though I want to when Stormi is within his possession right now.

“I said move.” Surprisingly GQ gradually steps aside, giving me the first real glimpse of Stormi since I walked into my sister’s family room.

Fitted out in a light pink dress with white flowers at the hem, Stormi is already gaping at me like a ghost.

And fuck me, she’s so fucking beautiful it physically hurts to look at her and know what’s transpired as a whole. My heart skids and crashes in my chest, wanting her to touch it again because it belongs to her.

She has it, the whole thing. I’d never be able to get it back even if I tried.

Her light blue hair contrasts against the color of her dress, airy and cheerful, the exact opposite of me. The perfect missing piece to my life, and I shoved her out of it just for us to land back here.

Except I’m not in control—yet—and she’s been—

“Did he touch you?” The thought slams into my mind quicker than I can examine to see if there is any evidence.

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