Page 75 of Overcast

HavingStormi sitting across from my sister at her dining room table is one of the most uncomfortable and awkward meals I’ve ever had.

The clinking of silverware against glass, the deafening silence ringing around the room, I find myself fighting to keep still.

What’s even more unnerving is that she heard my sister scream in the middle of the night from one of her nightmares. Fucked up part is that Wade told me that it was new. And it doesn’t get past me that Stormi might be the reason why.

Her presence here has shaken up the house more than it already was. Wade already hinted that he wanted to slam his fist in my face when he came home last night after Reagan half-ass ratted me out. Huck is beyond himself with wanting to know everything about her, and all I want to do is...no clue.

So many mixed emotions make their way through my body. Tequila and a glass are the only two things I can focus on without feeling any sort of regret. Emptied out a full pint of the golden liquid last night, but the aftermath of my hangover this morning is still nothing compared to the strain in the room.

Reagan is set on Stormi being innocent. Wade claims to have her back a hundred percent—which is utter bullshit, he just wants to still get his dick wet—and I’m...apparently wrong.

I want to be on the fence. I intended last night to keep an open mind about Stormi still being a suspect, but she fucked it up.

If it was one thing I knew, it was alarm and all the synonyms that match it.

I bath in it, crave it, and use it to fuel the monster within me. It helps solve problems, obliterate people who had the worst intentions that could put thousands or millions of American citizens at risk.

My career choice might be gruesome, morally fucked up, but the end game was always for the good of the people.

I broke rules, did some illegal shit by hurting Stormi the way I did, but my commander turned a blind eye. He averted his attention because he knows me and my brothers like the back of his hand. It's the whole don't ask-don't tell mentality.

Reagan was all I had after Mama died. It's public knowledge through B723. She changed me, made me better, responsible. I'd never cared for anything or anybody but myself since my own family was murdered, and now I'll burn the whole world down before someone came between my sister and me.

Call it a little overly obsessed or crass—I’ll tell you to go get fucked and lose everything before you come and talk or judge me.

The folding of a newspaper breaks through the thick mundane air as Wade places it down, giving his attention to his new guest.

“Stormi, would you like more coffee?” he offers, reaching for the pot automatically to refill her cup.

She lifts her head from her plate of pancakes and fruit, ceasing her picking at it since she sat down over twenty minutes ago. “No, thank you.” She steals a glance at my sister. “Breakfast is great, thank you again for—”

"No need," Reagan replies, next to me. "It's the least I can do.” That stressed word can be translated into “because my brother is a fucking prick”.

Mhm.

Yeah, one mental state begins to boil over another, bubbling within my chest since sitting down—regret. Something I haven’t felt this strongly since I blew Reagan’s dad’s brains out.

Not because I killed him.

But because Reagan did what she’s doing now in her sleep—screaming, tossing and turning.

I did this, again.

I brought stress to her world.

Stormi pushes back her chair gently. “Do you mind if I go wash up before we leave to—”

“Leave to go where?” I blurt, clutching my fork with more force than I should be.

We talked about this.

I didn't cause her to go deaf in the process of my torture—just scared shitless.

Stormi isn’t leaving my sight, I don’t give a shit how wrong or right it is.

My victim looks to my sister for help, appearing like a sad and hopeless little puppy wanting to get out of its cage. I don’t give a fuck if they have some womanly bond going on, guess who’s not going home?

"I'm driving her home," Reagan states, straightening her spine. It's all she has to do, we're about to fight. Those tell-tale signs that I'm so used to, Reagan is suiting up to give me hell, and I'm ready to go to bat on this one. "I promised her—"

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