Page 117 of Overcast

“I need details,” I say in the most gentle voice I can manage. “Did you see her that night...when I showed up.”

Stormi bows her head before inhaling a deep breath. Then she turns, facing me and wearing the bravest face I’ve ever seen on her features.

She wants this done too. She wants to get rid of me and forget.

“I saw her,” she mutters. “For a second.”

My brows knit together. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Slowly, her head cocks to the side, eyes piercing through my forehead because the answer is clear—I didn’t want to listen.

However, the mention of another woman in the house may have tipped some sort of rationality within me.

Maybe.

“Who is she?” I press, keeping my ass grounded on the countertop.

If I move, I’ll want to get closer to her. And if I do that, my hands will act on wanting to pull her within kissing distance.

“I don’t know much about her,” Stormi replies. “Just that she comes to the house sometimes, flirts with my dad’s friends, and they...”

“They what?” Her face turns a bright shade of pink as she averts her focus away from me and to her cooking pancakes. “They screw around.”

“Yes.”

“And Hollis...who is she to him?”

Stormi picks up her spatula and flips over a flapjack. “They mess around together.”

“And...did she come back with him? To your house?”

“I don’t know, I was in my room. My dad called me out to grab more beer and Hollis...he came up from behind.”

So much for staying on the counter because my feet hit the hardwoods and stride in her direction.

I don’t miss that she cowers back slightly from me, tucking her face back into her chest.

It does crazy-ass things to my body.

At one point, I wanted her to recoil and fear for her life when I was part of the equation to make her do things I needed to be done.

But now it feels like a slap to the face, though, I can’t blame her. I’m not easily frightened; however, we haven’t had the same life.

My index finger brushes under her chin, and I tip it upwards, coaxing her to look at me.

My God, she’s fucking flawless.

“Do you want me to give you a cheap shot on him?” I convey. “One open-palmed slap. A kick to the balls. I’ll let you borrow my baseball bat if you think—” She chuckles, real and melodic. Like a beautiful tune that only she can make.

“No,” she finally says. “I don’t need that, but thank you.”

“It’s therapy, sweetheart. You’re still pissed at me. I still have an ear-full to hear, I’m sure.” She looks heavenward. “Is there anything else you know about this Bianca broad? Where she works or the car she drives?”

She thinks for a moment before saying, “I think she works at a strip club called Dougie’s. She left a shirt in my room with that on the front when she stole some of my clothes.”

“That works.” My eyes trail over to her pancakes. “Go sit, I’ll finish up breakfast.”

Her face falls then. “Oh, but I like to flip them.”

A smile cracks at my lips as I step away to let her finish her cooking, but it fades away as quickly as it came.

This woman isn’t going to leave marred and broken by the time she makes it out of here.

I am.

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