Page 76 of Overcast

“You don’t promise her anything,” I carp. “She’s not leaving until I know who’s behind all of this.”

“Lower your voice,” Wade cautions through slitted eyes, making me remember that Huck is in the other room playing with his toys. “And she’s not linked to—” I drop my eating utensils against the glass plate and snap my head to him.

His douchebag persona is perfectly amplified by his expensive ass suit and salon-ready hair as he sits at the head of the table.

Wade Lockwood isn't an idiot by any means. He might not know how to handle his shit, but he's far from a pitiful excuse of a politician. He's made things happen, finalized bills and laws, and wasn't a waste of space.

However, this may be his house, but this is my sister and my responsibility that I may have completely jacked up on.

God—fuck.

I literally jacked off in front of this woman and—

“You’re not making the rules here, Lockwood, I am." I grip the edge of the table cloth that my sister keeps down for Huck and his toddler eating habits. It's three seconds away from being ripped off this table because he's a fucking idiot, and I'm possibly a goddamn piece of shit. "And I say, she's not leaving my sight until I know who did this to my sister."

"Marty," Reagan quips gently. "Enough is enough." My jaw clenches because she does not fully understand the lengths of shit I will go through—obviously—to keep her and her family safe.

And I don’t appreciate her dumbass husband for not backing me up. I need his support more than ever right now because her big ass mouth and getting her way all the time has him too pussy-whipped to see the reality of the situation.

Now is the time for him not to be worthless to me.

Motherfucker wants to call me up in the middle of eating pussy to bitch at me about not being able to do a job—dickhead—he better be able to look at all angles.

Stormi begins to rise from her chair again, and I cut into her with my glare, getting her to freeze in place.

“Remember when I told you I don’t like repeating myself, sweetheart,” I leer. “That applies here too.”

"Emric." My name is a request to just stop this whole charade and give her up. That she's fed up, tired, and emotionally depleted after what I've done and torn her from. Her home life sucked, her dad doesn't give a shit about her, no matter how many times Bishop or Mills threatened to kill Stormi, he doesn't move or speak.

Granted, it doesn’t right my wrongdoings, if that’s what they are.

Regardless, she won't be leaving me until I know who the men were that took her and wanted her for something. There are so many questions unanswered, and I meant what I said to Stormi last night when all I wanted to do was touch her in my buzzed-ass state—she's involved, somehow.

“Why does she keep calling you that?” Reagan recites, turning her whole body in her chair so that she can hit me with her full-on glower.

Geezus fucking Christ.

Like brother, like sister.

“Because that’s my name,” I deadpan, keeping my eyes locked on the blue eyes that have had me fucked up since day one.

Wet eyelashes fan her face, almost hitting the, now, healing slice of my knife that I caused within an hour of meeting her.

“Since when?”

“Since now.”

“Marty,” Reagan snarls lowly. “Quit this bullshit, or I’m gonna call Bishop and—” Now my neck snaps to her.

“You don’t get to fuck around with B723, Tsarina,” I snarl. “Bishop is my man. He works with me. You don’t get to tattle on me when you want to because I’m not letting you do what you want to do.”

“If you don’t shut your big-ass mouth,” Wade reminds me. “You won’t be working for shit anymore.”

This dumb fuck.

“Says who—” I trail my focus back to him. “—you ain’t shit anymore. You only got to where you were because Emmy put you there. You’re nothing but—”

“One more word, Marty,” Reagan chides. “And I swear to God…”

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