Page 144 of The Darkest Hour

I slammed my foot into the door again and again until the hinges finally gave way and the door fell back with a loud crash.

We took a breath, allowed dust to settle, and then stepped over the threshold.

The entryway was grand, with a staircase spiraling up towards what I assumed were living quarters, and on either side of us, there were doors leading into other parts of the chateau.

Everything one would expect when looking at the outside of the chateau.

But there was one thing that we did not expect.

One thing that kept us right in our place.

Hanging from the massive chandelier in the middle of the foyer was a body, swaying slightly in the still air.

I whispered, “Bloody hell.”

“And that’s the scent I’d been smelling from far away.”

My breath caught in my throat, and my heart pounded in my chest as the grotesque sight registered.

The man was suspended by a thick, twisted rope. His neck was bent at an unnatural angle. His body dangled lifelessly, toes barely grazing the floor, as if the person had tried to reach solid ground in their last seconds of life to save themselves.

But that couldn’t have been the case.

The body had been much higher before, and due to the weight and time, the chandelier had been sagging and slowly leaving the ceiling lowering itself and the body.

Shit.

I took in more of the space.

A ladder lay on its side beneath the body, kicked over in what must have been a final, desperate act.

The scene was horrific—a snapshot of utter despair frozen in time.

My stomach twisted.

The body had been there for some time. While I didn’t have Havoc’s nose, the stench of death was clear and very old.

I covered my nose.

Flies buzzed around the corpse, landing on his grey skin and dark, matted blonde hair.

A few small, scavenging animals had bitten at his toes and face.

Rats, maybe.

The man’s face was beyond bloated and discolored. The skin stretched tight across his features, making them almost unrecognizable.

His eyes were closed, but his mouth was slightly open, frozen in a final, silent scream.

He’d worn a designer white suit that was now filthy and stained with the bodily fluids that came from decomposition.

My stomach churned, and I had to force myself to breathe, to look away from the gruesome sight.

But the horror of it all kept drawing my eyes back, as if some part of me couldn’t fully comprehend that this was what I was seeing after taking that nice island stroll.

I looked Havoc’s way to anchor me back to reality.

Clearly, he was equally disturbed, though his expression was more controlled. His eyes flicked between the body and the room around us, analyzing the scene with a grim determination. “Four days. Maybe five.”

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