Page 43 of Overcast

“My leg,” I tell him. “It hurts.”

“Okay.” He’s in my space within half a second. “I’m going to pick you up, got it?” I bob my head, and he leans down to swoop me up. “I’ll try and be gentle.”

I bite my lower lip to keep a broken sob from escaping as a wave of agony shoots up my body.

Quickly and as carefully as he can, Cuban carries me over to another black SUV. Men stand at the driver and back door, staring at me in anticipation to be delivered to them.

My hand grips Cuban’s T-shirt, getting him to halt in his tracks.

“We’re saving your life,” he replies with confidence. “You should’ve never been taken like you were. I’m sorry.”

Cuban turns his body to position me inside the tinted out vehicle before my eyes collide with Emric.

His fist flies into another man’s face before he’s pulled back by two others from behind. Emric attempts to jerk out of their grip but to no avail. And as though he can sense me anywhere, his hazel eyes land on me.

I stiffen.

They’re beautiful, even when they glare upon me with such hatred.

He doesn’t deserve for me to think that about them. He’s my tormentor, enemy, a man who wanted nothing but information from me.

A piece of property.

A blow is abruptly thrown into Emric’s stomach, and he cowers over in response. The two brutes standing behind him, hold him still while another punch is delivered to the side of his face.

But it doesn’t stop him from looking up at me again.

He doesn’t speak—he doesn’t need to because his face says it all.

He and I, we’re not done yet.

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