Page 154 of The Darkest Hour

Actually, the helicopter was a charred, twisted wreck. The metal frame was blackened, the once-sleek rotors now warped and melted from the intense heat. The windows were shattered. Glass littering the ground like the remnants of some terrible explosion.

It was clear that the helicopter had been deliberately set on fire.

Onyx stopped in front of it. “That fucking piece of shit bastard. I hope his neck didn’t snap immediately when he kicked the ladder. I hope he hung there for hours between dying and barely breathing.”

“Me too.”

“There’s. . .” Onyx scanned the space and then looked back at the burned-up helicopter. “There’s no escape.”

My heart broke for her.

As if unable to deal with it all anymore, Onyx dropped to her knees, a strangled cry escaping her lips.

Damn it.

I watched as she broke.

Tears streamed down her face. Her shoulders shook with the force of her sobs.

Unable to handle it, I went over to Onyx, lowered, and gathered her trembling body into my arms.

I wanted to say something, anything that might ease her pain, but the words wouldn’t come.

What could I say?

That we were stuck here, but everything would be okay?

Now wasn’t the time for that.

All I could do was hold her, pressing her head against my chest as she continued to cry. Letting her pour out the despair that had been building up inside her ever since we first set foot on this damned island.

All I could do was stay strong, for her.

And, she clung to me, telling my heart and soul that she needed my strength.

I could feel her desperation, her fear, her anger—all of it pulsing through her body, and I absorbed it, letting her release it in the only way she knew how.

I let her cry.

I let her mourn the loss of the future she had hoped for.

I let the sound of her pain cut through the ocean breeze.

Cut through me.

So much that. . .

her pain sliced through my flesh. . .

and brought blood

that. . .

dripped and dripped. . .

pouring down my hands.

My arms and legs.

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