Page 209 of Overcast

I believed that after Marty,I’d never feel helpless again. That my heart would never beat erratically, not in love or nervousness, but pure panic.

I thought that everything was handled, that after fifteen days of being left without so much as an ounce of what I wanted to do when it came to Marty and I that—finally—things may just start to settle down in my new life.

I’m obviously wrong.

The moment Eli Quinn drove me out of Silver Lake was when all the red flags started to wave in my face. When, not even a mile outside the town’s city limits, we stopped and were greeted by four men that had two blacked-out vehicles waiting for us.

This was supposed to be us going to grab coffee and talk about the Stephen King book he came in gushing about two days after we met.

Not being personally escorted somewhere else.

And apparently, Eli Quinn knew me, way before running into me at Smudged Pages and spewing his make-believe bullshit about the author who sold over 350 million books.

He was behind the first round of men who attempted to take me away the day Marty and Mills were driving us to the cemetery. And, as grateful as I am for the distraction because I’d more than likely be dead by now, this isn’t a rescue mission.

In fact, it’s another kidnapping.

One that involves not only me but Reagan as well—one she’s not taking very well.

Zip-tied to one of Reagan’s dining room chairs, we both sit side to side, matching with the limited movement we’re allowed.

Except I’m not making so much of an effort.

To my dismay and failed attempts at talking to her calmly, she won’t stop tugging at her restraints.

Her wrists are bleeding onto the hardwood floors of her spacious family room, surrounded by furniture and Huck’s toys. Her raven hair sticks to her forehead, exerting herself to the point of exhaustion.

She’s not going to get free, and the pocket knife I bought while in Silver Lake for my protection was plucked out of my back pocket the moment one of Eli’s men searched me.

Eli thought it was hilarious. I’m sure you can guess my reaction.

Furthermore, I know where this is going to lead—sort of.

Marty is going to come here, Eli taunted me with the camera that hovered over Reagan’s place and told me to wave.

I didn’t.

I’m fully informed of who has access to them. Who will come to the rescue and possibly get himself killed. He’s going to play a hero when he’s not one. And with Reagan in Eli’s grasp, there’s no way he won’t arrive with one hell of a temper. He’s come this far to keep Reagan safe.

This will be no different.

“Reagan,” I convey again for the hundredth time. “You’re hurting yourself. Please stop.”

“We...need...to....get out,” she grunts, trying to slip one of her hands free.

No shit.

“Please look at me.” She doesn’t, chin tucked into her chest as she stays focused on tugging at her ties. “Reagan, you’re pregnant.”

Her neck snaps up to me, raven hair in her eyes as she glares at me. The female version of her brother, just less violent and cocky. And the only way to get through to him is if I have his full attention.

“You’re going to hurt yourself,” I continue. “Enough.”

“We can’t just sit here,” she snaps.

“And you can’t saw your hand off with plastic. Do you want to hold your baby with both arms or no?” She opens her mouth, but I quickly cut her off. “Let me try. You just be quiet and breathe.”

“Try, what?” she challenges. “I’m almost—”

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