Page 223 of Overcast

My next inhaleand heartbeat doesn’t happen. The solitary gunshot that rings through the air and hits my eardrums electrocutes my whole body into a state of shock.

She did it.

After I begged her to stop, she acted. Bringing out the woman that I always told her she was.

Strong, resilient, beautiful, and mine.

Upon the sharp pop of the Smith and Wesson, my eyes snapped shut. They already knew that we didn’t want to see the pool of crimson that I’m all too familiar with. The wound she caused and the possible exit the bullet went through.

I gasp for air, my lungs demanding like I did with her. My stomach splices, sending an uncomfortable spasm through my gut, and I feel like I’m going to throw up.

Then I hear it again.

Two more firework-sounding pops and pure, unadulterated silence. I force my eyelids with all my might to snap open because I have to check on Reagan.

The moment I can pinpoint the room, it’s wrong.

It’s wrong.

Stormi stands in front of me with that pale pink dress, fixedly gaping at the floor beside her.

My jaw slacks because I can’t be that lucky. I’m a bastard who doesn’t deserve her but took her anyway.

Her blue eyes flick to mine, and I slide across the hardwood floors with my good leg, dragging the other that has a bullet lodged in the back of my thigh.

Finding me approaching, she falls to her knees as I reach her, hauling her into my chest. She smells of some flower shit that I’m not acquainted with as my palms cup her face, brushing the pads of my thumbs along her soft cheeks.

She’s only inches away, but she feels like a mile. It’s almost like a dream.

“You,” I breathe, studying her.

Her soft fingers touch my chest, then my right cheek as a teardrop falls to my hand.

She’s here.

“You’re going to pay for all the shit you pulled.”

“I’m fine,” she mutters, tears voluntarily falling. “I had to, Marty.”

Squeezing the sides of her stupid, adorable face, I say, “No, you didn’t. I told you to point that fucking gun at—where is it?” I begin to scour the floor when I locate Eli face down on the floor.

Laying in the pool of blood I imagined being around Stormi.

The fuck?

“Consider the debt repaid for my ex-wife.” My attention trails to Wade, standing next to Reagan, who just jumped up from the chair and into his arms.

“Why didn’t you just hit him in the shoulder,” I carp. “I had plans for that motherfucker.”

Wade presses a kiss to the top of my sister’s hair whose face is currently tucked into the nook of her husband’s arm.

“Too dramatic,” he replies, wrapping his arms around Reagan’s back. “I prefer quick and easy.”

“I prefer nice and slow because—did you know what he did to my sister?” Wade’s brows clash together.

Now he’s going to wish he did it my way.

“Marty,” Stormi recites, sucking all my focus from the douchebag that just saved our asses and back to her. She gapes at me like I’m insane for still bitching about Eli when he’s been handled. “Do you ever calm down?”

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