Page 215 of Overcast

Mills and Emmy told me they were going to scoop them up while I handled shit over here.

Handled being a very loose term at the moment because nothing is going in my favor, and I don’t have a bullet-proof chest like Superman.

Reagan glares at me like I have something to do with all this when it’s really been her husband’s fault this whole time. He should’ve just shot old Montgomery in the head and left a suicide note.

It’s classic, not that hard to pull off, and we wouldn’t be here right now.

Setting her carefully down, Stormi and Reagan sit next to each other, both tied, bound, and my entire world.

We’re at a crossroads, my sister always being the thing that guided me in this life. The reason I haven’t gone completely off the rails. Then I sought out Stormi, felt like a normal man who fell in love, then our story ended.

Eli has the two sides of me that I can’t replace.

And he knows it.

Stormi wouldn’t be here if he wasn’t aware that something was there. And he isn’t wrong, it’s so powerful that I can barely contain it.

“Now that we’re all acquainted with each other,” Eli drones at my side, the exact moment a heavy and hard object belts into my spine, causing me to cower over and take a step forward.

I’m quickly pulled back, before the familiar feel of metal jams into my skull above my right ear.

“We’re going to leave this up to you.” Eli’s voice again before my eyes catch Stormi’s, fear etched in those blues that I adore.

My monster isn’t in control, and it’s not a good place to be in. Only because I’m erratic and a tad bit crazy when I’m cornered, yet there’s more at risk now than myself.

My sister and the love of my life.

“Use English, asshole,” I grumble, turning my focus to my sister.

Reagan, my stubborn and fiery-ass sister, she mirrors the start of a stroke. The color in her face is draining, her violet irises match Stormi’s, and if the guns in this room don’t kill us all, our bodies just might on their own.

A Smith and Wesson M&P9 appears in front of me, right into Eli’s smooth palm.

“Here,” he offers. “You choose.”

I raise a brow, staring at the silver anodized aluminum trigger. “You know if I touch that, there’s going to be a bullet through your head.”

“Then your sister’s,” he utters confidently. “And Stormi—” He steps closer. “—I haven’t decided yet. Those eyes...they pierce right through a man. I’d love to see how they’d look when—” He doesn’t have to finish his sentence because I’m already privy to what he’s thinking because I do it all the time.

It doesn’t stop my arm from swinging back and the fist that flies into his pretty face.

My action is quickly counterproductive because something—I’m assuming the end of an AK—blasts me in the back of the head, sending me to one knee.

My name is called out, I can’t tell if it was Stormi or Reagan, and another hit sends another wave of pain wafting through my head. A boot punts into my ribs, eliciting a grunt from my lips, and I’m attacked by both sides.

Punches and kicks are delivered into my muscles, sharp and numbing, as the next minute or so is me getting my ass deposited on the floor.

They suddenly cease as I stretch myself out to keep my tendons from tightening.

I’m hauled to a standing position again from underneath both my armpits and presented with the same gun.

“Take the gun,” Eli commands roughly before I peer up at him. He stands taller like the entitled prick he is. “Or a bullet lands in one of their bodies, and I won’t tell my guys to aim in any particular spot.”

I do, finger automatically on the trigger, as I study everything but what’s in front of me. If I keep harboring on Reagan and Stormi, I’m not going to be able to concentrate on getting us out of here.

The two men who just beat on me still remain on either side, and Eli has already taken a step back. No one else is in the room, the others must be the lookouts.

“One of them lives,” Baby Montgomery continues. “And the other dies. You get to choose.”

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