Page 31 of Overcast

Huck needs to be my backup.

Yeah, a fucking five-year-old.

I need a damn army to protect my sister, and if I can teach that kid how to kill someone before he’s thirteen, I’ll be a damn success.

A nerf gun. I need to get that kid one.

I’m not going to be alive forever, especially with the line of work I’m in.

Every day is what people call a blessing, and it is, but the jobs I do come with a red ink revenge sticker on the back of your head.

It creates shit like this.

And I knew, deep down in my gut, that I should’ve never stayed with Reagan and Mama. Something about me would always be off.

“When’s the last time you actually ate a good meal?” I shrug, reaching the door to get outside because the next thing I need is Bishop bitching about the smell of weed.

“Not sure, probably your—” Whipping open my door, a curvy frame and honey-brown eyes meet me on the other side.

“Emric, I—shit, your eye.” My brows knit as I frown at my new neighbor, Jane, who said that a little too loud.

“Do you have company?” my sister asks, curiosity peaked.

“Neighbor,” I deadpan, keeping my eyes locked on Jane. “I love you, see you tomorrow.”

Hanging up, Jane brings her fingers to her lips. “Oops, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt your call.”

I lift a shoulder dismissively, letting my gaze soak in her tan legs and the black, comfy-looking dress that hits right about her knees. It hides the curves that I know exist underneath the willowy fabric because, well, I’ve touched, sunk my teeth in, and kissed them before.

“What brings you down the hallway, Janey?” I lean against the side of the doorframe, pocketing my phone, and watching her squirm under my gaze.

Ordinarily, I’d think the shy bit was cute. Jane was a beautiful girl, smart—I believe she mentioned that she got a master’s degree in something once before—and tight as fuck. She moved in about three weeks ago, found her struggling with two boxes on top of each other that were almost as tall as her.

Continuing with my civic duties to keeping the community safe, this time in a calm and collected matter, I helped Jane move.

I didn’t have shit to do that day, needed the exercise, Jane had shit all for things, and I got to fuck her against the cheap laminate of her kitchen island afterward.

We ended up doing it two other times after running into each other, and it appears like my timid neighbor wants another round.

She points at my eye, mesmerized by the blues and purples that I’m sure are forming by now.

Did I forget to mention that I knocked Mills on his ass so he’d stop bitching?

He retaliated.

“You need some ice.” I perk a brow, sinking my hand into my pocket to grab a lighter when she continues with, “And I came by because I heard you come home and wanted to…” She lets her sentence leadoff for me to place it back on track again.

Except, she mirrors someone I already want to bone and have no business thinking, acting, or wanting to do.

Jane’s blonde hair, a shade darker, is fucking me up right now because I’ve imagined running my fingers through my victim’s silky strands and presenting her beautiful neck to me.

Those crystal blues that have my body reacting towards screwing her in another way that doesn’t require so much blood.

I grind my teeth together but plaster a smile on my face for Jane. “You wanted, what?”

Flicking my Zippo, I place my next high between my lips and light the bastard.

I need to hear her say the words, to be different—in any way, shape or form, from what I currently have locked up like Golem from Lord of the Rings in the spare bedroom.

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