Page 190 of Overcast

I’ve contemplated it back and forth, the idea of giving her an option to stay with me. To open up on how I feel and set myself up for possible heartache. It’s better than never knowing. Shit, I’d rather take a “no” over always wondering.

“I did what you asked me to do,” Emmy voices, twirling around her beer bottle. “It’s all ready when you are.”

“I’m still...deciding.” Another punch, the similar effect of wanting to cower over and try to breathe normally again.

Everything is in place—a new identity, home, money in a bank account with one push of a button. Stormi will be set up with everything she needs to begin a fresh future.

I just won’t be in it.

And I can live with that, if that’s what she wants to do, mine will just never be the same.

Nothing will ever beat, function, or feel right if Stormi leaves me. I’m afraid of what it’ll do. If I can handle it or if it’ll set me back deeper into the dark abyss of neglect and more fucked up ways to torture someone.

I know that I’ll never want to take another woman as an assignment. Even through the torment and pain, I’ll still remember Stormi and how we started. I’ll forever hear her pleas and possibly be either more lenient or violent towards them. I have zero fucking clue where my brain is going to go, and that should be terrifying enough.

“You already know my concerns.” Emmy picks at the label on the glass bottle. “It’ll have major—”

“No one asked for your concerns,” I chide, reaching inside my back pocket for the small container that I hold my blunt in. “Where’s Bishop?”

“Don’t know. He won’t answer his phone or any of my text messages.”

I flick my zippo, watching Bishop’s favorite element appear and blaze. “What about the commander? Has he hear—”

“No,” she quickly conveys. “Nothing. No one has heard from him.”

Hovering my hash over the fire, I inhale, watching the end turn into red embers before doing it again, letting the cannabis filter through my lungs and headspace.

“He doesn’t go AWOL,” I assert off an exhale. “Something is up.”

“He’s a big boy.”

“You sure about that?” I hand her over my blunt. “He has the temper of a five-year-old. Imagine that when he’s upset. Have you ever seen him upset? He’s a fucking lunatic.”

“I’m not his keeper,” she replies, blowing smoke out from her lips. “One of his many hoes can keep tabs on him.”

“Have you called one or—” Her neck snaps in my direction, brown eyes narrowed at me.

“Do I look like I know who he sleeps with?”

I perk a brow. “Uhh...no? But hasn’t he slept with Blue?” The expression that blooms off Em’s face appears like she’s about to shove my weed down my throat with it lit and watch me choke to death on the contents. “What?”

“He slept with Blue?”

Eh, shit.

I figured since everyone knew everyone else’s crap in B723 that Emmy would’ve known that Bishop hooked up with the other woman in our squad.

Blue was something else. A fiery redhead who gave zero shits about what people thought of her and took what she wanted, no matter the consequences.

She’s bat-shit crazy.

The exact opposite of Emmy and her analytical self.

Where Em is conscious about other’s feelings, Blue will call you a bitch and tell you to get your life together.

Someone Bishop wouldn’t have to worry about catching feelings for him. Blue isn’t that kind of gal.

“I...think so,” I slowly reply. “Mills mentioned—” Emmy’s hand jerks up to my face, silencing me as she engulfs one more hit of hash before handing it back. Her whole body begins to tremble, shaking the bench seat we’re both on. “The hell is your problem, Em?”

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