Page 152 of Overcast

My life wasn’t rainbows and fucking daydreams but late-night fucks and havoc. I’d kill her. I would massacre everything about her.

Stormi moves again towards me, even though she appears like she’s about to fall to her knees and cry right now. My chest pings in an uncomfortable stabbing sensation, and I want her to go. That annoying ass pricking at the back of my neck implores me to wrap her up in my arms and tell her everything is going to be fine.

It is, just not with me.

No matter how hard I try, I can’t extract a peaceful side of me for long.

Everything is violent, whether there’s blood or not.

This is who I am.

Who I’ll always be.

I’m friends with the monster, and he has me roped in a bond that leaves no spot for her in my existence.

“Marty,” she repeats, her voice cracked and strained from a sob that wants to break from her throat. Her blue eyes gloss over in denial and realization, and it might as well be a kick to the balls. The curling and knotting in my gut is forming so tightly that I’m ready to go kill the other fuck in my bunker right now.

Seems as though the younger one has a better pain tolerance level of having his fingers snipped off.

“Get back inside, sweetheart,” I order so that I don’t take the chance of my body betraying me and brushing up against her. It’s getting too reckless with thinking it can just take without consequences at the end of all this.

“What...happened?” She slowly takes another step, her eyes studying, trailing, and scoping my frame.

It cranks on the knob for my temper to kick in. I don’t need her asking me questions. I don’t have to explain how I just slaughtered eight dudes on my sister’s property and another in my bunker.

“Shit,” I deadpan. “I need to take a shower.”

I move, taking the chance of body parts grazing against the softest ones I’ve ever felt when her arm lands on my forearm and—as if on command—I stop on demand.

The fuck?

“Is this your blood?” For a split second, I appreciate the gentleness of her words. That she cares if I’m hurt or in need of some sort of aid. But, again, the questions.

“No.” I step away from her. “It’s not.”

Her jaw pops open, and I want to brush my fingers over the plush flesh of what I wanted next around my cock, but—I mentally shake my head.

I’m not doing this right now.

Let the record show that karma is a bitch, and the reality check it just slapped me with is noted.

Nothing good ever lasts forever, and I can keep her safe from anyone...even me. She’s not built for this.

The fucking problem is that she’s perfect for me if I didn’t like to fuck people up in unconventional ways because it’s therapy.

Striding for my house, I haul open the back door and make my way to the bathroom upstairs. I need to clear my head, wash the blood off, and relieve Mills in about an hour with promises of making him a sandwich or some shit.

The only things I should be thinking about is how long I’m going to wait for the young kid to talk before I rip his tongue out and what I want to eat as well.

And even then, I can’t bear to be in my own house when Stormi is having a civil war in her head that I can feel because that’s what she’ll do. It’s what any normal human being with a brain would do.

I’m not ordinary, we’ve already established that.

A soft graze brushes my back, sending a swell of electricity through my body and whipping me around as though someone just tased me.

Stormi shows up in my line of sight, stumbling back at my jerky movement, and my hands snatch onto her biceps, so she doesn’t break that pretty neck I’d like to run my lips and tongue down.

“What are you doing?” I growl, not bothering to hide my annoyance. She couldn’t have just waited until we were up the whole flight of stairs before touching the man who is becoming more unpredictable as the hours go by.

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