Page 52 of Overcast

And I don’t like it.

“Why are you shaking?” His eyes stay glued to his work on my cut, wound, gash—whatever it is as he gently wipes at it.

Stop moving.

His green eyes tip up. “Hurt?” I nod, biting the inside of my bottom lip to demand my body to listen to me.

No more showing your fear, he enjoys that.

He doesn’t prod me to answer, a brown bottle now in hand, spilling more liquid from it onto a clean cloth.

The ripping of paper sounds at my side, and his thumb skims over my skin again, causing my lips to part involuntarily. “How did those dudes know where to find you?”

“You tell me.”

“Hence the question.” I feel the gentle placing of the adhesive before his finger outlines to get it to stick. “Do you have a tracking device in you or something?”

“No.”

“I can find out, you know.” Another scare tactic, but this one is whispered, setting a crest of goosebumps rippling down my arms. “I gut people, sweetheart. It wouldn’t be hard.”

“I don’t have one,” I repeat, trying to focus on any stains, imperfect paint brush strokes, or specks of dirt on the ceiling.

“I don’t believe you.” His course hand lands on my thigh, right above my wound, and I suck in a gasp. “Prove it. Tell me how they knew where you’d be.”

“You’re not going to like the answer.”

“Try me.”

I take a deep breath that causes a small, uncomfortable feeling to my side. “You keep searching for something...but it’s not here—” I crane my neck to look at him. “—it’s not me. I don’t hang out with Hollis. I’ve never been with him outside of my house. The men that took me...one introduced himself to me as Johnny. The other was Cuban, I don’t recall his real name even though he told me. I was too startled and scared...you pointed a gun to my face and—”

“Get to the part where I give a fuck,” he upbraids. “Who hired you or Hollis to murder Reagan Lockwood, also known as Reagan Shelton.”

“I don’t know anything about any murder or anyone named Reagan.” He opens his mouth, but I beat him to it. “Why do you keep asking me questions then if you think that I’m going to just lie about them anyway?”

“Because I figured you’d get as tired as I am of asking them.”

“I am. Unfortunately, it doesn’t change what I know.”

He meets my stare with one of indifference. “We’ll see about that.” His statement does the same thing it always does, restlessness and the unknowing of what’s coming.

He seems like he has everything planned out. That, since he more than likely does this for a living, there’s a million things he can do. Because who can do what he does with no etch of remorse off his face.

“You should’ve just let me die out in the street,” I tell him.

His lip quirks in a weak grin. “Didn’t think of you as a Debbie Downer, sweetheart. I liked you better when you begged.”

My nostrils flare because my entire being sits on edge.

I’m tired of being the mouse in this game. I don’t understand how he thinks this is the best way to spend his time. Making sure I survive just to kill me off later like he tried before.

“I don’t think you’re funny,” I vouch.

His brows perk. “I’m sorry I’ll try to do a better job.”

“What you’re doing makes no sense.”

“Enlighten me on what you think I should do then.” I don’t know if he notices it, but his thumb faintly grazes my skin. A tranquil action contrary to everything he’s done prior.

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