Page 115 of Overcast

It must’ve been the atmosphere and the plastic gold and purple beads. They made a debut of my using them to make my target’s choke on. It made for an intense need to want to screw Zoe after each kill.

So, taking a woman shopping. Yeah, that’s never happened.

My plan was to just get in and out, especially after that pretty boy who thought he was going to get a pass on Stormi’s body.

I was on edge the whole time.

I wanted to go back and find him because all I needed was ninety seconds. A minute and a half to make him regret ever “helping” her with another pair of jeans.

It wasn’t out of the kindness of his heart or that he wanted to win Employee of the Month, it’s because he saw an opportunity—my fucking opportunity.

Granted, it’d never go that far. We’ve already established that Stormi staying with me is to keep her safe and out of the way of any more eventful truck-flipping or my losing my shit when someone takes her from me.

I just want this over. I know she does too, and things will eventually need and go back to normal.

Which brings me to my next objective for the day—this Bianca bitch.

I’ve let Stormi skate around for a few days without obtaining any answers, and it’s time I get them. I need to know, my sister is on the other side of the world practically hiding from these fuckers, and it’s time.

Marching back inside through the front door, I’m greeted by the sound of bacon sizzling in the kitchen. The soft clinking of pans from my cabinets ring through the foyer, and I gradually round the corner to find Stormi in the black leggings that she picked out yesterday and an oversized light pink shirt. Her long blonde hair is pulled back in a lazy ponytail exposing the back of her slender neck as she stands over my countertop, stirring something.

I park my shoulder against the doorframe, letting my eyes roam freely and without judgment over her body.

I was right yesterday when I said she needs to gain some weight. That she’s lost a lot from my time with her and filling her out will—well—she’ll be more stunning than she is now.

She’d be better suited and irresistible with a guy like pretty boy. A woman like Stormi wasn’t made for me. I’m too overcast, and she’s too bright.

And too fucking cute in my fucking kitchen right now.

On, cue, she peeks over her shoulder, and, to my fucking surprise, she smiles at me. My heartbeat slows, and my cock stirs as her baby blues glimmer brightly off the sunlight beaming in.

“Good morning,” she greets, turning her body to face me and taking the glass bowl of what she’s mixing with her. “I hope you don’t mind that—”

“I don’t mind,” I quickly chant, pushing off the wall and striding towards her. I nod to the bowl. “Whatcha making?”

“Pancakes.” She beams like it’s an accomplishment. That she’s never been able to do something that simple before in her life.

I force a smile, feeling my gut slowly knot, and I’m not sure if it’s because I’m starving or if my guilt is gradually making a meal out of my stomach.

“Great,” I reply, stopping outside of an arm’s length from her. It’s not safe for either of us when she looks like a damn snack right now that needs to be—

Her immediate frown halts me from my progress on that fantasy. “I should’ve asked first, do you like pancakes?”

“Love them.” Smoke starts to rise from her pan behind her. “Your bacon is burning, sweetheart.”

Her eyes widen before she hastily pivots around and tends to her searing bacon. I crack open the window over the sink to keep the smoke detector from going off and let some of the warm breeze fill the space.

Hopping up onto the countertop, I dangle my legs over the sides and continue watching her cook me—us—breakfast.

“Do you want milk or orange juice?” she asks me, flipping over her bacon.

“Milk.”

“And do you want blueberries in your pancakes or plain?”

“We have blueberries?”

She gives me an exaggerated smile as she glances back over at me. “I may have slipped them in our grocery cart yesterday.”

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