Page 175 of Overcast

Stormi doesn’t turnto look at me, more than likely too shocked to do anything on her own. Bishop doesn’t look surprised at my pausing Bianca’s demise but still sends a glare in my direction for wasting his time. I wish he’d fucking use half his brain and chilled out for a second. I’m aware he gives two flying fucks what people think about him, and that’s great, but Stormi doesn’t need to see this shit.

We’re ending things tonight.

Bianca claims to know nothing about who hired them, stating that Hollis approached her about what she would gain and how much she’d make off murdering Reagan.

Five grand and a kilo of coke, that’s all my sister’s worth these days.

Everyone after this will be dead except the men or women who put the hit out on my sister. And beginning from square one again is more frustrating than Stormi giving me her opinion about—in so many words—how much of a villain I am.

Round and round, my head has been spinning about what to do, how to end all of this, what am I going to do next because all my leads are gone. I’m not going to sit around and wait for another wave of assholes to swing by in their SUVs and try for round three. I also can’t keep Reagan in Italy forever.

“Stormi,” I convey, rounding her body so that I can block out both Bishop and Bianca from her vision. “I’m not begin to ask you why you’re out here, but I need you to go back.”

“Alone?” Her tone is small and almost child-like, making me want to drop everything in my hands to wrap them around her.

Nope.

Not in front of Bishop and because I need some of my balls back.

“Can you find it, the house?” She stares at me for a split second before bowing her head. There’s no use in denying that I’m going to do unimaginable things to my captive. I can see Stormi’s brain moving a mile a minute at this point. “Alright, go ahead then.”

She opens her mouth before promptly closing it, but I already know what’s going to leave it. I don’t know why she bothers to ask, we’ve been there, done that.

“What is it?” I press. “You want to know if I’m going to hurt her. Kill her. The answer is both. I told you she wasn’t anything to me. Now she’s worthless.”

“You didn’t get any information out of her?”

“No.” She averts her eyes from me. “And you don’t want me to take her out.” Those blues flick back to mine. “Isn’t that right?”

“I’m not going to answer those sort of questions, I’m not God.”

She’ll never understand—ever.

If she believes a cop or a special agent who has a terrorist in his or her midst is going to lay out lollipops and ask nicely to obtain intel, she’s more sheltered than I thought she was.

“You do know I took care of Hollis, right?”

“I figured,” she mutters.

I inch closer to her, the need to spill all of my so-called sins pricking at the back of my neck for some reason.

Maybe I need her to tell me she doesn’t want me to make this all easier. That she can’t stand the sight of me and hasn’t thought about me at all in the last forty-eight hours.

All of this—it shouldn’t matter.

I could torture my own damn self for letting me get this deep. I knew that from the first moment I saw her something was different and off-kilter.

The axis of my own world got knocked off, and I need it back on.

I need me to be me again.

My role is not only important to my country but my family—Reagan and B723. I’m not going to abandon it.

“I did it for you,” I convey. “I did it because he fucking touched you and said fucked up shit about what he still wanted to do. I saw the look in your eyes when I asked, so I executed him. And I’d do it again to anyone who dared fuck with you. Do you understand me?”

She bobs her head in, I think, acknowledgment.

“I need you to go now.” The woman still doesn’t move, testing my patience and the inner beast inside that wants to snap and bark at her to dip out. “What else do you want from me?”

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