Page 15 of Overcast

The stiffness of my fingers that wrapped tightly around the steering wheel. The blunt I lit somewhere along the way, leaving the stench of cannabis wafting through the air. Bishop called me, threatening me not to step foot into the house until they showed up.

If they weren’t like brothers to me—I would’ve told him to go fuck himself and tell the others to hang loose.

If it wasn’t for this job, I’d probably be a serial killer.

“I don’t hang out with Hollis.” The blonde’s voice seeps through the last twenty-four hours replaying in my head.

The discovery of my sister.

The innocence of my nephew who could’ve been next.

The anxiety that won’t cease from taunting me and the complicated fact that I don’t know who ordered this hit.

“Please,” she begs, unease lacing and twisting in her plea. It makes me wonder what kind of dire requests my sister asked for while this bitch was ignoring them.

Now she wants leniency.

A break.

Compassion when a young child would have lost his mother as I did.

“I work at a library,” she continues. “I don’t do any—” Her blood-curdling scream echoes off the concrete walls as the blade in my palm drives into her thigh.

I don’t flinch, nor does she focus into my sight except for in a blur of color.

A broken sob escapes her lips next, enhancing my brain to wrap this up.

My go-to is wire cutters; clipping people’s fingertips off seems to produce answers, but something about her tone halts me.

Nice time is over, let’s end this.

It was always going to come to this. I wouldn’t be able to not hurt her because of what she’s done.

What she would’ve finished had I not been there.

I lost Mama. Now almost Reagan.

Huck would’ve grown up without a mother. Wade wouldn’t know what the hell to do. I’d be alone because they were all I had. The two women in my life that kept me grounded for the most part.

One is gone, the other is...

A wave of panic rushes through my head, and I quickly shake it away.

This isn’t the time for that.

She’s alive.

My squad is everywhere. Outside Reagan’s house (she won’t let them in), and they follow her wherever she goes.

She’s breathing. At home with Huck and Wade. She’s fine.

“Please just let me go,” the girl says, rocking back and forth. “I didn’t—“

“Shut the fuck up,” I storm. “You can’t back up dick, and for each fucking lie or ‘I don’t fucking know’ bullshit you spill, I’m going to start taking off fingers.”

“I don’t know anything,” she snaps, face twisted in pain. Her hand reaches for the blade, but she whips it back like she’s scared of it. “I keep to myself.”

“Sure you—“

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