Page 205 of Overcast

My sister covers her mouth, her eyes wide in silent warning to stop it, although she’s the one trying not to laugh out loud.

“Never asked for your opinion,” he counters. “However, word on the street is that you’ve been pretty emo for the last week or so.”

“I’m sorry?” I lift my brows, clutching my beer bottle for dear life because I’m about to crack it over his head before stabbing him with it. “Did you say emo?”

Wade does something stupid then.

He rounds the table, stepping within reaching distance. His taunting me at the wrong time is going to land him with a broken jaw and me with a pissed off sister.

“Emmy said—” I stand, my chair scraping against the hardwoods as I tower over Wade with my extra fifty plus pounds of muscle over his singular big mouth.

But he doesn’t waver from me.

In fact, he likes to hide behind my sister’s love for him, believing that I won’t fuck him up once the occasion presents itself.

He’s wrong.

Especially right now where I’m hankering for a fight and a still very strong desire to hit Wade for over the last sevenish years.

“I think you’ve outgrown spying, don’t you?” I seethe, keeping my fists locked at my sides. “Stop using my organization for your own personal gain, asshole. Last warning.”

“Marty,” Reagan pleas softly. “Please, don’t—”

“You’re the last person I’d care to spy on, Shelton,” Wade offers through his wife’s next comment. “However, Em and I are very close. And, for some fucking reason, very worried about you.”

“She worries about everyone,” I deadpan.

“Not so much as to call me about it.”

That’s it. I’m going to strangle Emmy like I should’ve years ago.

I slap Wade on the shoulder—hard. “Don’t lose any sleep over it, Lockwood. Your boy can take care of himself, and I’m fine.”

“Are you upset?” Reagan chimes in, that concern I saw earlier starting to bloom thanks to her asshole husband.

“No.” Now Wade raises his brows in disbelief at my answer, and I’m done.

I don’t need this shit.

I don’t want to cause a scene with my pregnant sister, who shouldn’t be worrying about me and Huck upstairs washing up.

Wade can push my buttons, I’ve learned to deal with it. It takes a lot more than an ass clown in an expensive suit to piss me off.

Still doesn’t mean he’s not irritating the shit out of me.

“Emmy called me too,” Reagan admits. “Why did you do it? If she meant something then—” My attention snaps to her.

“Wasn’t that what we talked about?” I point to the front door. “Right outside on your porch. We agreed that I would let her go the moment this was all over. When we found out who it was. And now he’s dead. We’re done.” I flick my consideration to her husband. “You can thank dickhead over here for the attempted assassinations.”

“Sox, how much do you love your brother?” Wade fumes. “I can buy you a new one if you still want a sibling.”

I lean closer to him, hoping that he hits me. “Feeling a little guilty, Lockwood?”

“Marty,” Reagan warns, reaching her mom-tone. “Enough.”

“You’re the big scary assassin,” Wade conveys. “You tell me if I should, especially since you have no clue how the fuck he hired out someone from prison to kill my wife?”

“You know him more than me,” I convey. “Someone just saved me the hassle. You should’ve just killed him and saved us the trouble.”

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