Page 40 of Overcast

And he’s not an idiot.

However, it doesn’t stop my mind from playing out what I would do if I was free from his clutches. I’d leave Connecticut—the country. The apprehension of him finding me just to do this all over again shoots nothing but pure fear within my already established dread.

I’ll never feel safe again. He stole that from me.

“You missed the turn,” Emric barks, tapping away at his cell phone.

“We’re going to go in the back way,” Mills grumbles in the driver’s seat. “That’s where everyone else is waiting.”

Emric doesn’t respond, looking out the window as the sun beams generously outside. Where people are going about their daily activities with no qualms or awareness that I’m zip-tied in this car against my will.

I want to ask him where we’re heading, what his plan is, but I’m too scared to know. He hates me, and all he craves is me dead.

I’ve seen it—it’s the most prominent message that I’ve learned from his eyes. No remorse or regret, not a speck of worry for my well-being or injuries. He just wants answers. Ones that I can’t provide because I’m still clueless with what happened, who Reagan is, and how I’m even linked to any of this.

However, he’s grown tired of me. Made it perfectly clear that it won’t “end well for me”, and I’d have to be a complete idiot to not grasp that concept.

He’s going to kill me.

No matter how much I cry or plead for him to please let me go, he doesn’t believe me. Dead-set on me being behind the atrocities done to this Reagan person.

“We only have twenty minutes,” Mills states. “There is a funeral scheduled for two.”

A funeral…

My eyes widen.

“What are we doing?” I blurt, my body, on cue, trembling in apprehension.

Emric doesn’t turn his head, nor does he acknowledge my question. No longer am I an asset to him and what he needs.

Which means…

My eyes catch Mills’s in the rearview mirror, he looks fatigued and almost...sad? He’s shown me nothing but kindness when Emric has been anything but. He brought me half a cupcake one night when my captor was gone. It was vanilla, my favorite, with white frosting and pink sprinkles. My first thought was that he had children because, why would he randomly have sprinkles? But I didn’t ask, and he never ventured into side conversations. He made sure I was fed, somewhat comfortable with the extra blankets he brought down, which Emric threw a fit about, and hydrated.

“Mills,” I plead. “Can you tell me—” My body is suddenly thrust forward, caught by my seatbelt before I hear the shatter of glass bursting somewhere inside.

The SUV is hit again and, even though my eyes are closed, I feel us spin. A body hits mine, Emric’s, and the screeching of tires permeates through the air until we jerk to a stop.

Then silence.

A groan follows a second later, and I crack my eyelids open, finding shards of glass scattered all over the dashboard and seat. Mills moves, rubbing his head before I hear the opening and closing of doors in the distance.

“Son of a fucking bitch,” Emric gripes before the faded shouts of men follow.

It’s the next sound that seizes my undivided attention—the loud, metallic sound from the hammer of a gun clicks beside me, and I slowly turn in its direction.

It’s aimed at me.

My eyes are wide. My heart—I’m not sure what it’s doing because I can’t focus on anything other than the barrel where a bullet with my possible name on it is going to claim its residence.

“Come any closer to the car,” Emric yells, hazels already directed on me. “And she’s fucking dead.”

I want to follow up with “he means it”, but my voice is lodged down my throat, in the pit of my stomach, and disappearing.

“There’s too many,” Mills immediately voices, elbow propped on the armrest and peeking over his shoulder at his friend.

Nothing comes from Emric as he continues staring at me. He doesn’t bother looking down the sight, confident that he’s not going to miss the deadly shot.

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