Page 17 of Overcast

I perk a brow because I’m not done, and he’s not going to make me do any fucking thing right now.

Cocking his head to the side like a father who’s waiting for me to do what I’m told, I steal one final glance at my soon-to-be fatality that I, unfortunately, want to hate-fuck every ninety seconds.

Blood soaks through her jeans, and excitement instantaneously races through me.

I want to finish this.

I want to kill her with everything that I have in me right now.

The urge hasn’t been this strong in a long time. I’ve calmed down quite a bit from Reagan’s appeals and because I knew it was an addiction that I had to break at one point or another. I couldn’t be a sixty-year-old trying my match with someone twice as young just to get my ass kicked or killed. I’d like to leave with a shard of pride when I stop this charade.

However, I love screams.

Their submission.

That I have all the power in any situation like this. That no one can take from me anymore because I took control before they could do anything else.

But this time, it’s so personal and hits too close to home that a simple knife to the leg and waterboarding this woman is barely scratching the surface. It’s not chipping any of my uneasiness away.

My parents and two younger sisters were murdered when I reached the tender age of eight. I spent sleepless nights in the streets where I became an orphan overnight, all because a man in a suit wanted to annihilate a whole town.

He took my entire world and literally burned it into ashes.

Never again—ever.

I’ll obliterate this woman to gain any peace of mind before I let her go back and try again.

Following Bishop, he turns his back on her and faces the windowless walls. “We need to go. I’m not fucking with any pigs, and that scream could’ve woken the dead. We got minutes until a patrol car gets here, finds our cars, and then we’re stuck with a few more problems.”

“This neighborhood is used to constant noise,” I retort. “There’s no—“

“The pigs are on their way.” Mills’s voice chants yards away from the stairwell. He gestures with his hand for us to go, but I remain still.

Bishop scoffs, disappointed as he shakes his head. “You’re an idiot. You know better than this, and you don’t—”

“Go fuck yourself,” I sneer. “I didn’t ask you to join in this bullshit.”

“And it’s technically not on our list of shit to do but—” He lifts his massive shoulders.”—here we are.” I take a step in his direction.

He’s right, I’m wrong.

Still doesn’t do anything to stop my need to swing on him.

Thing is—I can’t.

I won’t.

Bishop and I go way back to my early days at B723. He took me under his wing and screwed my head on straight. Became a piece of my second family, which doesn’t help with the craving of my fist wanting to meet his face.

However, I’ll restrain myself on this occasion because we literally don’t have any time to lose.

“Load her up,” I tell Mills. “I’ll take care of the rest.” Unlike Bishop, he does as I ask without any guff or bitching.

Her delicate moans and weak requests for Mills to help her doesn’t hit any piece of my anatomy.

She may look sweet and innocent. Something a man like me might like to break one night, drunk on tequila and lust while introducing her to all the different ways I could make her come.

But we know what this is—both of us.

Being in this business, she’s aware of what happens when you get caught—the fifty-fifty chance of making it out alive.

But with all I’ve done for this job, I’ve got no chance of getting out unharmed.

Unfortunately, blondie and I won’t have that revenge fuck. I’d strangle her before I got the chance to come.

And I don’t fuck dead people or little bitches who attempt to kill mothers, sisters, and my whole entire existence.

---