Page 225 of Overcast

“Same,” she deadpans through furrowed brows.

She’s talking about dropping her off and leaving her alone. I grit my teeth together to keep from yelling.

“So this was payback? Blowing your fucking head off—”

“No—” She blows out a long breath. “—it was to protect you and Reagan.”

“That’s valiant of you.” I loom towards the rest of the air between us. “But next time, let’s not do it with a weapon pointed anywhere at your body.”

She perks a brow. “I’m assuming that goes for you too?”

“Sure, baby.” I brush her lower lip with mine. “If it keeps you alive, no assisted suicide attempts. Happy?”

Stormi dips her head in agreement as I skim one of my hands down her side, stopping at her hip.

I inhale her again, pressing my forehead to hers and reveling in the silence of the house.

“God, sweetheart…” My mind goes back to images of her with the gun under her chin. The instant blood rush of adrenaline and fear that sprinted through my body.

I’ve never felt such a powerful helplessness in all my life. With Reagan, I could get to her, I saw her still moving in the water. I could give her CPR and revive her.

But a bullet through the head wasn’t something a few bandaids and a visit from Lucien was going to fix.

“Mhm?” Her inhales and exhales blend with mine as she hums her response, sounding content to just be here with me.

“I’m sorry.” I press my skin firmer against hers. “I didn’t think...I never would’ve left you if I knew danger was still out here. You never would’ve left my sight.”

Her fingers lace into my free hand, attempting to comfort me when it should be the other way around. I’m used to bullshit—or so I thought.

I’ve already experienced close calls with Reagan twice from two separate parties. Stormi was...it was smothering just deliberating how her life wasn’t one I could protect, even from herself. I was receptive of a lot of things that she was but a sacrifice?

“Do you promise me?” I ask. “Promise me...Stormi that you’ll never do that again because I can’t have my potential wife acting like a hero.”

She skews back to consider me; my words, my face, how much I’m seriously not kidding.

“I’ll stick with the knives then.” My hands clamp onto her face, and I loom over it, watching her blue eyes make a mockery of how I’m never going to be able to rightfully force her to do shit.

“Keep it up,” I convey in a low growl. “I’ll lock you right back in that damn bunker, sweetheart, do you hear me?”

“Perfectly.”

My thumb brushes her cheek. “You had my last name, Ivanov. It’s the one I was born with, my family’s before they died. It’s why I am who I am. I watched my town burn to the ground, fire so hot that I couldn’t even attempt to save my parents and two younger sisters if I tried. I like to think that, if nothing would’ve happened, maybe I’d be normal. Maybe I wouldn’t have so much pent up rage and grief. My story isn’t just what you’ve seen, it’s evolved into so much more. And—” I take in a deep gulp of air. “—I need you to know before…”

Stormi’s hand comes up to cup mine resting on her cheek. “We don’t have to talk about it now.”

“I want to. I need you to be fully informed of all my shit.” I stare into the depths of her blues and blurt, “I murdered Reagan’s father. I came to America and killed him because he ordered the bombing on my town. He was a senator.”

Her eyes widen, but, surprisingly, she doesn’t hurl herself away from me.

“The rest is history between us. She dragged me home, ratted me out to her mom, and Mama adopted me. I ran hard drugs, Reagan dealt with the small shit. We were poor, red notices in the mail all the time, and Mama had cancer. I went into the Marines to get her health insurance because she got fired from her job over some bullshit. That’s how I got involved in B723. That’s how I know Wade because Emmy was his assistant. I killed his ex-wife because she was trying to run away with intel for the Russians, she burnt down my mother’s house with her in it and almost had Reagan killed. When I...left you in Silver Lake, I couldn’t give you anything else but a name, some part of me that you’d have with you always.”

“You...” Tears brim her eyes, but she doesn’t let them fall. “I hate you.”

“I see that.” I clasp her hand that’s over mine. “You almost killed yourself for me.”

“You shouldn’t have done that,” she quips. “You should’ve asked me what I wanted to do.”

“I already know what your answer would’ve been, sweetheart. At the time, it would have been the wrong one.”

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