by Hazel Grace
I want to be strong.
I crave a life that is unhindered and filled with happiness to spread to other people in my new existence.
But from the sounds of it, Emric has reached his limit and patience. And no one is going to save me from him.
Except maybe me.
Maybe I should’ve just let those clowns keep her. It’s the second time I’ve had that thought, and the more I do, the more powerful the wish becomes.
I’ve watched her fingertips brush the cabinets of my kitchen, her wandering eyes taking in part of my hidden world that I built in case I needed to take my entire family there. It was for when Wade was president, and if his goons couldn’t protect him and my sister, I had a backup plan.
Everything Stormi touches, I want to immediately go in and wipe off. I told her not to move, so not touching should’ve been implied.
Regardless, I wasn’t going back down there. Not when she’s shirtless, and her body was more picturesque than what I imagined up in my head.
I don’t trust myself, and that’s an unlying problem. Not even Emmy’s shitty text could soften my cock when I stood there and gaped at her like a fifteen-year-old that’s never seen a pair of tits.
She had blood on it.
That was a fucking reason why I asked her to remove it. And now I don’t want to see her.
Granted, I’ve been eye-fucking her through my computer screen while Emmy kindly introduces herself, shaking her hand and gesturing for her to take a seat. Em is a people-person, I’m not.
Cracking open my beer, I immediately take a large gulp of it while my eyes stay pinned on that plain as fuck white bra and those slender shoulders that I would love to sink my teeth into.
You’re a fucked up human being. More than you believed prior to all this.
Being sexually attracted to my hostage is as dumb as it gets. Honestly didn’t think I could stoop that low.
But here we are. My gaze follows her every movement. I notice every hoist of her chest from her nervous exhales and how her posture is already starting to relax.
All because Emmy looks like a second-grade school teacher and hasn’t stopped smiling at her since walking in.
That alone pisses me off.
So why I’m lusting over a female that almost took away my entire reason for living—no clue.
However, I’m tired of it. Maybe Jane isn’t doing it for me. Maybe I need someone who’s more submissive and otherworldly looking. Normally not my type but—hey, anything to get myself out of this glitch of how I’m feeling right now, I’m down. Stormi is a means to an end, and I’m not getting balls deep into a woman who has done nothing but try to deceive me this whole time.
Stormi takes a seat across from Emmy, clasping her small hands together. Em must’ve offered a drink because she starts for my fridge, and I’m a second away from calling to bitch at her to get this shit over with.
After arguing with Em for over ten minutes, I finally allowed her to have a crack at the blonde who won’t leak a damn thing. Maybe a woman can persuade her to speak, I don’t fucking know, I’m out of options, and she can’t stay here anymore.
Not when Reagan, Huck, Wade, and my unborn nephew or niece lie more than a football field away.
Emmy—as much as I don’t want to admit it—is my last hope to figure all this bullshit out.
Her gaze keeps roaming the room, and she hasn’t said a word to me since I walked in here. Emmy brought her clothes—mine—and something to eat. She didn’t touch the food, but I wasn’t going to spend the night watching her to see if she does. I only spent most of it regarding her pace and squirm on the couch restlessly, trying to sleep while I chugged beer after beer.
I got so fucked up that my woozy brain wanted to go down there to beg her at one point to tell me anything that might be helpful.
Thank God for my rational side.
“Tired?” Stormi leaps from her slumber, sitting upright and flashing her large, and now open, blues at me.
Yep, should’ve had Emmy offer her own damn shirt because she looks way too fucking good in mine.
Stormi violently shakes her head at my question, and I fight the urge to roll my eyes.
I haven’t slept, I’m aware that she hasn’t either with the puffy skin underneath her eyes and the fatigued expression on her face. I’m betting that we can both argue that we want this over with.
“Going to need you to stand, sweetheart,” I tell her, still towering over her weary frame as she pretends to study the floor.
She slowly peers up, those beautiful glaciers piercing into me so sharp that I feel it prod my chest.
Those look different today. They glimmer with determination and something that I can’t put my finger on.
It doesn’t matter, Emmy struck out last night. My last hope took a shit, and we’ve come down to the end of the road.
“You never mentioned that Reagan Lockwood was your sister,” she mutters.
Oh, hell fucking no.
My hand is already fisting my shirt and hauling her off the furniture before I’m in her face, rage bubbling over my previous calmness.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” I sneer. Her palms find my chest, and my body reacts—fucking traitor—loosening up on my grip until she blinks, those long eyelashes seductively taunting me to forget everything that happened.
Everything that I wish didn’t take place.
“You told me. And Emmy Lou said—” And we’re back to my inner fury because now she knows.
Yeah, I did tell her. It fucking slipped. But I thought she was too fucking out of it to even hear me.
Now she’s aware that my family is at risk.
That I need help.
That I’m desperate as hell, and she’s the only one besides Hollis that has the answers I need.
“Your little girl talk makes you think you know everything?” I snarl. “That you have something on me?”
Her chest rises and falls with rapid breaths, grazing mine, and attempting to secure my attention elsewhere.
“No,” she quickly retorts. “I’m just...sorry.” I perk a brow. “For?” “For...you having to go through that. To be—” My arm wraps around her waist, and I press her closer to me, getting her to shut the hell up.
“I don’t want your apology. I want answers , sweetheart. Ones that you have in the palm of your hands yet won’t give me. So what do you want? Freedom, money, a new wardrobe? Because I’m ready to negotiate. Hollis put you there, I saw you there. There’s no point denying shit now.”
Her brows knit before her palms settle on my forearms, digging her nails into my flesh. “I wasn’t there.”
I wish I could enjoy this. To just stare at her without knowing what I have to do. That I’d be able to savor another side of Stormi that I know dwells inside her. She’s there, living and breathing in front of me, and I’m still going to crack her open. The slight discomfort in my skin from her nails only proves that she’s ready to break.
“We’re doing something different today,” I convey. “No more water.” She heaves a deep breath and holds it, waiting for me to reveal what the new thing is. Reaching behind me, I pull out a Zippo lighter, and she wrinkles her cute little nose.
If I’ve learned anything from Bishop, it’s that fire, and the searing burn gets people to move, speak, and break.
“Give me your hand.” I expected the look of “you’re out of your mind” but not the glower that she sends my way after it.
She’s a goddamn storm, alright. I’d love nothing more than to feel a lightning bolt of lust and kiss her right the fuck now. I watched her stare at me while I stroked my dick. She wanted to know what it was like, and I craved to lose myself inside her sweet pussy for a moment of pure peace.
“Now, sweetheart.”
She steps back, gets nowhere then shakes her head. “No.”
“There’s another route,” I vouch. “Anything you have that can point me in the direction of who hired you—”
&
nbsp; “To kill your sister,” she finishes for me. “Are you fucking taunting me now?” I leer through my teeth, hating that she knows the vulnerability that lies within me. “You know. And you’re aware that I’ll fucking make your death a living hell if you don’t speak up.”
“I already told you,” she counters softly. “Please, you—” I squeeze her tighter, making her wince. I’m drained of all patience right now. I’m overworked with all our back and forth. It has to end. “We’re back to begging?” I chide through my teeth. “What happened to that look of determination that you just wore a minute ago?”
“I’m not—” “There are so many ways we can do this. I can burn you, light your clothes on fire and watch them char your skin as you attempt to put them out—which could be more entertaining.” She tries again to yank from my grasp. “Or, I can torch your pussy with this lighter so that you can’t—” She uses all of her body weight to pull from my grip, but I hold firmly onto her.
She’s fucking pissed.
Her face is red with fury, and I can’t say I’m mad that I get to see this. In fact, I’m hoping it helps her slip up with something.
“I like the latter better,” I continue, allowing my fingers to trail up her spine. “I don’t think you’d mind it much either.”
“If you call raping women your cup of tea,” she fumes, shoving at my shoulders.
“Mhm, you might enjoy it.”
“Doubt it.”
“Then tell me who those men were.” She clamps her mouth shut, literally bites down on both of her lips to keep from speaking.
Like a fucking child.
I flick the lighter inches away from her nose. “I don’t want to fuck your pretty face up, remember?”
“Doesn’t matter,” she states. “You’re going to kill me anyway.”
“You want to make a deal?” She perks a brow at me. “Death is still on the table for you, sweetheart.”
Her face falls.
She’s shutting down, and I’m just making it worse by speaking.
This is why I never talk much to my victims, but something about Stormi makes me have diarrhea of the mouth, apparently.
“Just kill me now,” she recites. “Because I’m done. I’m tired of this.”
The corner of my lips curl. “Sorry to say, I’m not yet.” Lies. “And until I know for sure you’re worthless to me, I’ll keep trying. Now, give me your hand.”
She doesn’t comply—shocker—so I pry it off my body myself. Flicking the lighter, I watch her eyes pinch closed, and I almost feel bad.
Almost. Focusing on her palms, I flick the lighter again, bringing it closer to her flesh. And before I can hover it for more than a second, a stabbing pain lands in my back.
Stormi’s frame wrenches from my hold as I glance over to see what the fuck she just did before I’m blasted on the right side of my head.
My ears ring as my jaw pops open from the shock of it. Encased in my shoulderblade is a fucking knife—my knife—that I kept in the same spot in Hollis’s body.
Looking back to Stormi, she’s not there. I quickly blink to make sure my vision is correct, and it is, as my body clenches between twinges of pain hitting not only the spot she stabbed me at but in my chest.
Peering over the knife, I see Stormi at the stairs before sprinting up them. Fuck. I force my feet to move, each step sending a fresh wave of discomfort. Sunlight drifts through the bunker, hitting the wall, and she’s fucking gone through the door.
Then it closes and locks. Adrenaline courses through my body as the animal instincts of a hunter flood through me. She doesn’t know where she is, but if she sees Reagan’s house, I’m fucked.
And she’s locked me down here. Slamming my now bad shoulder into the door, I cry out in pain.
All the things I haven’t done to her yet come to light. I should’ve gone harder on her. I should’ve ended this a long time ago because she has caused me nothing but trouble.
Now I have a fucking stab wound, locked in my own damn bomb shelter, and she’s off in God knows what direction right now.
I hit the door, again and again, knowing there is no fucking way I’m getting through the steel.
Then my dumbass remembers that I have a key in the bedroom. Quickly I run to grab it and back up the steps. On click and the door opens, the sun blinding me for a moment as I scout the wooded area for her.
Nothing but trees meet me, and I should’ve microchipped her for all the inconvenience I’ve gone through, but it was never supposed to be this way.
Taking off towards my sister’s house, it’s the only place that I want to make sure she’s not at.
I don’t want to explain shit to Reagan. I don’t want to try and make her understand that I’m more fucked up than she believed. That I haven’t calmed down at all since she had Huck.
That I’m not worth saving at all.
Reagan loves me, wants to make sure I’m happy, and live a fulfilling life.
Thing is, I am. I love what I do.
I love being the Grim Reaper for people who should never shadow the Earth and put millions of people at risk.
I love revealing their weaknesses and ignoring them because it’s who I am.
I could never forgive in the first place after Reagan’s father killed my whole family, so why someone else thinks I’m going to forgive their sins is beyond me. It’s what I was made to do. I’m the invisible keeper of the country to protect and keep safe.
And with Stormi, it is personal. She tried to take away my sanity and one of the few people that I have ever loved whole-heartedly in my life.
It’s all my heart has room for.
Breeching through the woods, Stormi still isn’t in sight, making my heart beat a little more easily. I still make my way towards Reagan’s house because when I know for sure she isn’t near my sister, I’ll be more at ease.
It only takes me another minute to hit my sister’s front door, throwing it open and calling out for her.
“In here,” she calls back from the kitchen as I stride breathlessly towards her voice. My nerves are shot, I feel light-headed, and my sister sounds fine.
Rounding the corner, I see Reagan standing at her kitchen island, her hair pulled back in a ponytail as she moves aside to put a blubbering Stormi on full display.
I don’t stop the next words out of my mouth, nor do I stop my arm that rises and the index finger that points accusingly at her.
“You,” I roar, marching in their direction.
Stormi leaps off the stool and goes behind the island, countering my actions by going the opposite way.
I forget my sister is even in the room if Huck is around because I lock my concentration in on the blonde who now has that fear glossing over her eyes.
“Marty!” Reagan shouts. “What the fuck are you—”
“I will kill you, bitch,” I fume, still circling the counter like a caged animal. “You’re going to—” A pair of hands grip my arm, and I flinch back, finding Reagan peering up at me with panic in her violet eyes.
“What the hell are you doing?!” Her focus flicks to my shirt. “Fuck, Marty, you’re bleeding!”
I mom-arm her, pushing her back from Stormi because I don’t want memories to flood her.
From the nightmares she’s been experiencing due to the attack, I don’t want Stormi sending her into a state of shock.
To have more PTSD in her life because I was the first cause of it. Mama had to have her hypnotized just so she wouldn’t remember me shooting her dad in front of her.
“Get the hell back, Tsarina.”
“Marty,” Reagan snaps. “What are you—” I jerk my gaze away from her and back at Stormi.
“You thought you’d come back and finish the job?” I glower, my head cocked to the side. “Maybe that was your idea all along. Get me to bring you back here so you can—” Reagan’s hand clamps on to me again and jerks me back.
I don’t move far. In fact, it only pisses me off more.
I
snap my neck to my sister. “What are you doing? She fucking tried to kill you!”
Reagan’s face twists in confusion. “What? I’ve never—” I wave a dismissive hand in the air, cutting her off because I’m just done with all this.
“You wouldn’t remember because your brain is trying to block out everything again,” I carp. “Like what I did to your father. How I killed him in front of you, and somehow you thought I’d get in trouble for it. This is the bitch that tried to murder you. I saw her. She had her hand around the back of your head and—” Reagan’s palm flies across my cheek making me halt whatever else I was about to say.
She’s never hit me like that, ever. My eyes deepen in on my sister, stray strands of raven hair cupping her face. Those violet eyes that I fell in love with the first time I saw her are searching my expression to discover if I just lost my entire shit.
“Calm...the fuck...down,” she scolds calmly. “I’ve never seen this girl in my life.” “She was...” I shake my head and focus. I’m not going crazy. I’ve said this a million fucking times. “She tried to kill you, and—”
“Marty...” She takes a slight step towards me. “No, she didn’t. She’s too short, and the woman who tried to...drown me had brown eyes.”
“No, I—” Reagan cocks her head to the side, challenging me with her stare.
“She did...because I saw her. I dream about her.”
I grind my teeth. No, I watched her. “Rea, you were fucking out of it. That—”
“No, I saw her.” She points at her chest. “She ran away before you got up close.”
“He said her fucking name, Tsarina. Stormi. The dude, Hollis, he even put her there when I questioned him.”
“The man’s voice told her to hurry because it was going to storm, Marty. They argued about the weather for some dumb ass reason.” She averts her attention from me and furrows her brows. “I was even thinking of how stupid it was when she was doing it.” She scoffs. “Fucking weirdos.”
I gape at my sister who appears...normal. That Stormi, the woman I tortured and threatened, is no menace or bother to her. And Reagan’s no-nonsense attitude about being right is making my gut wrench and my brain whirl.