OVERCAST (B723 Book 1)

by Hazel Grace

  “Marty,” she breathes, relief flooding her features. “Where is Huck and Wade?”

  I shake my head.

  I don’t know.

  Mills and Emmy told me they were going to scoop them up while I handled shit over here.

  Handled being a very loose term at the moment because nothing is going in my favor, and I don’t have a bullet-proof chest like Superman.

  Reagan glares at me like I have something to do with all this when it’s really been her husband’s fault this whole time. He should’ve just shot old Montgomery in the head and left a suicide note.

  It’s classic, not that hard to pull off, and we wouldn’t be here right now.

  Setting her carefully down, Stormi and Reagan sit next to each other, both tied, bound, and my entire world.

  We’re at a crossroads, my sister always being the thing that guided me in this life. The reason I haven’t gone completely off the rails. Then I sought out Stormi, felt like a normal man who fell in love, then our story ended.

  Eli has the two sides of me that I can’t replace.

  And he knows it.

  Stormi wouldn’t be here if he wasn’t aware that something was there. And he isn’t wrong, it’s so powerful that I can barely contain it.

  “Now that we’re all acquainted with each other,” Eli drones at my side, the exact moment a heavy and hard object belts into my spine, causing me to cower over and take a step forward.

  I’m quickly pulled back, before the familiar feel of metal jams into my skull above my right ear.

  “We’re going to leave this up to you.” Eli’s voice again before my eyes catch Stormi’s, fear etched in those blues that I adore.

  My monster isn’t in control, and it’s not a good place to be in. Only because I’m erratic and a tad bit crazy when I’m cornered, yet there’s more at risk now than myself.

  My sister and the love of my life.

  “Use English, asshole,” I grumble, turning my focus to my sister.

  Reagan, my stubborn and fiery-ass sister, she mirrors the start of a stroke. The color in her face is draining, her violet irises match Stormi’s, and if the guns in this room don’t kill us all, our bodies just might on their own.

  A Smith and Wesson M&P9 appears in front of me, right into Eli’s smooth palm.

  “Here,” he offers. “You choose.”

  I raise a brow, staring at the silver anodized aluminum trigger. “You know if I touch that, there’s going to be a bullet through your head.”

  “Then your sister’s,” he utters confidently. “And Stormi—” He steps closer. “—I haven’t decided yet. Those eyes...they pierce right through a man. I’d love to see how they’d look when—” He doesn’t have to finish his sentence because I’m already privy to what he’s thinking because I do it all the time.

  It doesn’t stop my arm from swinging back and the fist that flies into his pretty face.

  My action is quickly counterproductive because something—I’m assuming the end of an AK—blasts me in the back of the head, sending me to one knee.

  My name is called out, I can’t tell if it was Stormi or Reagan, and another hit sends another wave of pain wafting through my head. A boot punts into my ribs, eliciting a grunt from my lips, and I’m attacked by both sides.

  Punches and kicks are delivered into my muscles, sharp and numbing, as the next minute or so is me getting my ass deposited on the floor.

  They suddenly cease as I stretch myself out to keep my tendons from tightening.

  I’m hauled to a standing position again from underneath both my armpits and presented with the same gun.

  “Take the gun,” Eli commands roughly before I peer up at him. He stands taller like the entitled prick he is. “Or a bullet lands in one of their bodies, and I won’t tell my guys to aim in any particular spot.”

  I do, finger automatically on the trigger, as I study everything but what’s in front of me. If I keep harboring on Reagan and Stormi, I’m not going to be able to concentrate on getting us out of here.

  The two men who just beat on me still remain on either side, and Eli has already taken a step back. No one else is in the room, the others must be the lookouts.

  “One of them lives,” Baby Montgomery continues. “And the other dies. You get to choose.”

  I zoom in on him, eyes narrowed at the ultimatum he just gave me. He didn’t just say—

  “Choose wisely.”

  “You’re out of your fucking mind,” I fume. “I’m not doing dick.”

  “Then they both die.”

  I move, anxiety, and fury coursing through my veins because there isn’t an option of which one means more to me.

  They’re both the same.

  Each woman is my life, what I function for. Even though Reagan is married and well off, and Stormi will find her own path, both of them being alive is what makes me operate.

  Inches from Eli’s clean-shaven face, my next sentence has some saliva on it. “Let’s see how good my cowboy skills are, eh? I kill you first—” I raise my gun, hearing the two fuckers lift theirs in return, locking their bullets in place. “—then I try my luck with them behind me. It’ll be a good ‘old showdown.”

  “You really wanna try that?” Eli hedges. “Risk their lives because you can’t—”

  “You just told me to kill one of them,” I rant. “Fuck you.”

  “I like blondes.” He nods in Stormi’s direction. “That one. Even though...the blue strands she’s rocking is sexy.”

  “Motherfucker, you touch her, and I’ll rip your shit off.”

  “You’ll be dead.”

  “We’ll both be dead.”

  And I’m fine with that.

  I’d gladly die for my sister and Stormi.

  “Then what happens to our girls?”

  “Marty,” Reagan chimes in. “Step off for a second.”

  Um, no.

  I’m not cowering down from a rich sleazeball who believes his daddy wasn’t at fault when he was. When he wants to point the blame at everyone else but the person who fucked up.

  I’d bring it up, but slicing into his self-esteem and preaching that this is dumb as fuck won’t help here. His wanting Lockwood because his father got locked up on some legit charges and a stripper who had no issue coming home with me—it’ll do nothing but speed the process of this ending badly.

  “Listen to your sister,” Eli imparts. “She wants us to get along.”

  A mirthless chuckle escapes my lips as I tower over him. “Thing is...I don’t give in to demands from little shits who think they’re something. So, if you believe you’re going to win this little game, I got news for you, fucker.” I shove my weapon into his soft chest. “No one is dying by my hand except you.”

  A shot rings out, startling me to my core as I whip around to my girls.

  The sight is too much. The hysterics working their way up to my brain are making me dizzy.

  Regan’s scream echoes in my ears on repeat. All I can see is the blood trailing down her shin and to the hardwood floors. Her body cowered over in pain.

  A baby that she’s carrying.

  “You do understand that if you don’t, I’ll pick one myself.” I can’t turn on Eli because I’ll kill him.

  Then I’ll off my sister and Stormi in the process.

  “You’re just flesh with a big mouth,” Eli continues. “And nothing to back it up.”

  “Emric.” My other name is softly spoken, and I’d know the difference between the two females even if I was deaf. Stormi’s voice is a damn melody that I’d listen to every day on repeat.

  It’d be the only thing to drag me out of my current state of panic and right to her.

  She gapes at me with unshed tears in her eyes. The message they’re sending—not going to happen.

  She wants me to choose her.

  She is asking me to kill her over my sister.

  “Not going to happen, sweetheart,” I ground out, my tongue dry from just—no. There would
be no fucking way I’d pick my sister over Stormi, my own flesh and blood...how fucked up is that?

  In a life or death situation—like right now—it’s something that my body wouldn’t do.

  Shit, I’d go put a hole in my head afterward. Like some real Romeo and Juliet shit but bloody and way more fucked up. We didn’t come from opposite families but mistaken identity and two different worlds.

  Our story sucks worse.

  “You might want to do what she says,” Eli proposes, not missing what short conversation Stormi and I just had. “Did you ever give her a choice?”

  “No,” I answer honestly. “And stay out of it.”

  “So, be it.” Eli steps backward, ripping the gun out of my hand and placing a good amount of space between us. I’m immediately hauled back by Beavis and Butthead as I watch him march behind Stormi’s chair.

  Positioned on either side of my frame, they point their assault rifles at me.

  “I told you...if you fucking touch her, Montgomery, I’ll rip your small ass dick off if I can find it.”

  Stormi’s hands appear in front of her, and she immediately starts rubbing her red-rimmed wrists. She tips her chin and meets my stare, accepting, scared, and I swear to God if something happens to her...I just can’t.

  “Go ahead and stand up,” Eli tells her, offering a hand to help her. She doesn’t accept it, rising on her own and keeping those beautiful irises still on me.

  Eli extends his palm, the gun in the same exact spot he offered to me. “Now, you get to choose.”

  “What the fuck is this?” I storm. “Fucking tag?”

  “Take it,” Eli clips. “Your boyfriend has two assault rifles pointed at—” He doesn’t even finish his bullshit response before she snatches the Smith and Wesson out of his hand.

  It’s warming that she’d attempt to save me from having a full clip put into my flesh, but I don’t want her holding it. I also don’t need her to listen to all the dumb ass shit he’s going to say.

  Her body begins to tremble, staring down at the deadly object, and I’m losing her.

  She’s traveling right back to the place that she was in when I first snatched her up and tortured answers that she never had out of her.

  “Stormi,” I assert sternly, gaining her concentration. “Remember who you are now. You’re not weak anymore, you’re strong and gorgeous. You’re fearless as fuck.”

  She gives me a half-ass nod, but I’ll accept it as long as she hears me.

  “He’s right,” Eli agrees, stepping next to her. “You got two minutes to choose. Pick one of them or none. If you go with the latter, they’ll both die. And you and I–” He flicks his shitty gaze at me. “—I’ll take you with me and show you how amazing I can treat you. With my small dick and everything.”

  The gun in my hand is cold and heavy, like my mind. The ultimatum is unthinkable, choosing to play God and be the person who takes away someone’s final breath.

  “It might not be that hard to decide,” Eli confidently mutters next to me. “Reagan didn’t do anything, she’s an innocent in all this. Just like you, I bet.” The back of his finger trails down my cheek, and I know the spot he chooses.

  The faint line that was created by Marty’s blade.

  I flinch away from his touch just as Marty says something foul and loud. I don’t pick up on it, too dazed about how we’re all going to get out of this. How Marty might be the naive one in all this.

  We’re outgunned, and neither of us has the upper hand.

  “I’m sorry,” Eli says. “I’m not trying to make you uncomfortable, but something has to be done here. My father was murdered in prison. I’ll never get to—”

  “Was he wrong?” I blurt. “Did he do those things?”

  I peer over my shoulder at the man who I thought was going to be a friend, and he appears taken back by my question.

  “Honestly...yeah,” Eli conveys almost sheepishly. He keeps his tone lowered, so only I can hear his validity. “He didn’t do the best things nor make the right decisions. But he was a good dad. He was the only man in my life that thought I’d be able to do something. He was everything to me.”

  “I’m sorry,” I mutter. “I—”

  “Stormi,” Marty bellows, arresting my focus. I return back to him, and he’s glaring at me. “Don’t listen to his bullshit. He’s trying to build rapport. I do the same shit.”

  “And he murders people,” Eli whispers. “And I’m not a gambling man, but I’ll wager some of them were innocent...like you.”

  “He’s right,” Reagan pipes in. “He lures you in, it’s how he got me into that pantry.”

  Eli steps closer to me, his expensive cologne encasing me in the bubble he made for us. “How many more will die by his hands?”

  “Stormi,” Reagan chimes in again. “He made me believe something was wrong. That he was just a regular guy I was throwing a party for. He had a buddy in there with him and—”

  “Enough,” Eli yells, stepping forward so he could get a full view of Marty’s sister. “Fuck, Reagan, how long are you going to keep that shit against me?”

  “Forever, asshole,” she returns. “You tried to rape me.”

  “He did fucking what?!” Marty takes a step in our direction, but he doesn’t get another because the ends of the weapons being held by Eli’s men are right into his back.

  “Marty, stop,” I plead, fear rippling into my gut. “Don’t move.”

  “Fuck this,” he rants, his handsome features twisted in animosity towards Eli now. “You tried to touch my sister, motherfucker?!”

  “He didn’t get far,” Reagan transmits, trying to go backward. I can’t be the only one aware that Marty might do something extremely stupid. And if I see him shoot, I’ll crumble right to the polished floors. “I pulled out the knife you gave me.”

  That has Marty’s attention.

  He flicks his eyes back to his sister, his once hardened shoulders softening a tad.

  Him and these knives.

  “Are we done?” Eli asks, completely at ease over Marty about to lose his mind.

  He must be insane or altogether stupid. Then again, he doesn’t know who he is.

  I didn’t.

  And he doesn’t want to.

  “We will be soon,” Marty replies with venom in his tone.

  “Alright—” Eli touches my forearm and raises the gun still nestled in my palm. “—pick, darling.”

  I look up at him, my jaw beginning to tremble hopelessly. “ I can’t.”

  “Didn’t you hear what I said? It’s one or both.”

  “I can’t kill someone,” I deadpan.

  Eli moves aside at the precise moment when the man on Marty’s right looms towards Reagan, reaching for the thickest knife I’ve ever seen in my life from his side. The edges are rigid and angry, one small slice appears like it could sever a limb.

  I watch him loom closer, my heart beating ferociously in my throat.

  “No, please,” I beg at the same time Marty threatens him.

  He doesn’t stop, positioning it at her collarbone and waiting for the order to act upon what the weapon can do.

  “Last chance,” Eli quips. “One or both die. No more games or me asking you again.”

  The knife at Reagan’s frame moves higher, barely touching the tan skin of her throat. One swift move and I might see Marty’s sister die in front of us.

  “Stormi,” Marty croons, snapping my neck to him. “We’re going to do this together. One step at a time.”

  Huh?

  I study his features under the stubble of his chin along his jawline. It’s a 360 of what it just was, composed and at ease. As though nothing in the room was bothering him just his calling out my name like it was a normal day.

  “How do I know Reagan gets out of here?” Marty asks, not to me but the man standing at my side.

  “You have my word.”

  Marty doesn’t break his focus on me. “That doesn’t mean shit.”

  “It�
��s all you have,” Eli deadpans.

  “Step away from the girl.” Surprisingly, Eli does what Marty tells him to do, but it’s not far enough from all of us.

  I want to wish him away.

  I want to go back to two weeks ago.

  I want to tell Marty so many things, how pissed I am and how I wish he never left me alone.

  “Raise the gun, sweetheart,” Marty instructs, but my arm doesn’t listen.

  I’m not shooting him, I just can’t voice it. I can feel a familiar panic attack beginning to emerge from my chest.

  It’s not going to end this way.

  Not with us standing in front of each other and having to put our lives in another parties’ wishes.

  “There are so many things,” Marty states. “That I want to tell you...but we don’t have a lot of time. I’m going to try, and you have to promise me something, okay?” I give a weak nod. “Each sentence you raise the gun.”

  My brows slam into each other. “No.”

  A soft smirk illuminates his face. “There she is. But right now, I’m going to need you to follow my lead.”

  His lead.

  He has a plan.

  “Ready?” I don’t move, so he takes that as a somewhat yes. “I never got to tell you how much I love you. That I’d never change a thing that happened between us.”

  My body goes stiff as his words float around me.

  Are they real, or is he buying time?

  Marty’s eyes flick to my gun, still lying at my torso, and I gradually extend it, but it’s aimed at the floor.

  “I never wanted to leave you in Silver Lake,” he continues. “But you never would’ve made the right decision for you. After you told me you loved me, I didn’t want to keep you locked in my world just to dim your brightness. I would’ve made you miserable, Stormi, maybe not now, but eventually. You don’t like me killing people, and it’s all I do. It’s all I know how to do.”

  I lift the weapon again, angry that he still made the decision for me. That he never gave me a chance to pick what I wanted to do. That I’ve been desolate for the last two weeks without him, and nothing has made it better. Every minute away from him is its own sort of torture.

  I loved him and only him, and he walked away from me.