Page 98 of Overcast

This man…

He’s the most frustrating human being I’ve ever had the misfortune to have met.

“You have to promise not to hurt my dad.”

One of his brows lift. “That’s a statement, not a question.”

“Emric,” I chide. “He doesn’t have anything to do with Reagan. I wouldn’t protect him if—”

“Why are you protecting him?”

“My question first.”

He gives a dismissive shrug of his shoulder. “It wasn’t a question.”

“Emric.”

"Sweetheart." I bite down on my lower lip to keep from screaming out. If every single one of his victims were like him, I could see why he kills people.

“Please,” I cajole, swallowing down the last ounce of pride that I have left. “He’s not—” The wicked curl to his lips stop me from continuing my sentence.

He might not be privy to this, but every one of his expressions radiates devilry.

And it kick starts my paranoia on what's going on in his screwy head.

He probably chuckles at videos of dog fights or kittens drowning. His hobbies are more than likely skinning animals or sitting outside and sharpening knives.

“Why are you smiling?”

"No reason." He remains perfectly still while I just notice that my good leg has been bouncing this whole time. I quickly halt my nervousness and straighten my spine.

"My dad," I repeat. "Promise that you won't—"

"No."

My whole face twists at his quick dismissal.

But, then, I'm talking to a sociopath, and he's not going to help me.

Nothing I ask is going to be answered, and I've already said I didn't trust him, so...this is pointless.

I stand, scared to turn my back to him, but gallop up the stairs anyway, ignoring the discomfort in my leg.

I need to get out of here.

I need to think of a very detailed and solid-proof plan to help Dad.

I need to get out of here.

Jerking my bedroom door from behind me to close, I stride for my bed. Except, it doesn't sound shut behind me.

Pivoting on my heels, Emric is right in front of me, glaring down at me with his intimidating and hardened features.

A shrill of trepidation courses through each pore of my body because I’ve been here before.

He's stood in front of me with fury and disgust while strategizing how to get me to talk. How he'd torture me until I pleaded for my life and, even then, he'd never give it to me. Not when his sister was in danger, and her future hung in the balance.

“You made a deal,” he leers softly. “So, you stomping off like a little brat isn’t going to get you off, sweetheart.”

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