Page 153 of Overcast

“I—” It might be the furrowed brows I’m displaying and the shitty-ass attitude, but she doesn’t finish, nor does she need to.

I’ve shell-shocked this woman when I should’ve just listened to Bishop in the first place. She’s just being reminded that I’m not someone who is going to have a 9-5 job and make babies with her.

I’d love to make babies with her.

Wait...what?

I take another step up the stairs still staring at her, but now like she’s about to change my whole life and demand I make adjustments to it.

That through those powerful little pools of her eyes she’s going to stupify me to do her bidding of how she’d want our life to be.

Mine’s set, I’m good. I like what I do, and I’m not altering shit.

Fuck no.

I’m not her keeper. She doesn’t belong here. There’s no way in hell she’s not going to get her feelings hurt. And I loathe the fact that Bishop has been right this whole time. Once I found out she was innocent, that should’ve been it. Give her a threat dangerous enough to keep her mouth shut and send her on her way.

“Were you coming up to bitch at me, Stormi? Or did you have something else you wanted to say?” Her speculation drags across the blood spotted and scattered over my chest, and it feels judgy.

When she comes back with nothing, I shake my head and make my way up the rest of the stairs.

That should be it, I haven’t treated her like this since I thought she was behind Reagan’s attempted murder.

That usually made her shut up.

However, this woman has the balls to whirl me around seconds later by my forearm, and I let her, finding her again with more determined features on her face.

“I wanted to make sure you’re okay,” she states with puckered brows.

“Was that it?”

Her frown deepens. “No. What happened?”

I pry my focus from her, not wanting to get distracted from her disheveled hair and glowing features protruding what we did hours ago.

She’s already a fucking complication.

“Three blacked-out SUVs showed up at Reagan’s house last night to finish the job. I showed up, got two guys down in the bunker—one of them is dead already—and I’m getting information out of the other one.”

She stares at me like I’m a psycho.

I am, I guess, in a way short-circuited and screwed up, but I didn’t ask for her opinion on my personal behavior.

“You never answered the ‘are you okay’ bit?” My attention falls back on her, and she mirrors a mother that’s about to smack the shit out of her teenage son.

It’s kinky, but current day, blood on my skin, I need to clear my head, she’s driving me nuts right now—need I say more?

“I’m fine.”

“Good.” She steps forward, softening her forehead and regarding me now with a sparkle of worry. “You have to stop this.”

I perk a brow. “Stop what?”

“This—” She waves a hand in the air. “—this torture stuff.”

And here we fucking go.

“It’s what I do, Stormi,” I ground out. “Do you think me asking nicely is going to get me what I require from these men?”

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