Page 29

“Coming, London?” Jade calls a couple of steps behind Nigel.

Micah’s dominant presence looms over me, and I narrow my eyes at him. I haven’t forgotten the way he treated me on the plane when I was trying to get on it. I want to make a snide remark about saying please, but can’t find the words.

“In a minute,” I call out to her, but I settle back in my spot and dig my heels into the ground.

He arches his brow and pauses as he watches my clear defiance. I swear a small twinge of a smile forms on the edges of his lips, but it’s the blaze in his eyes I really notice.

Amusement? Anger?

I should fear that look. I still don’t know what this guy is capable of—he might have caused those bruises found on that dead girl. His voice comes out softer than I expect. “What if I say please, London? Will you get up for me, then?”

For a moment—one moment—he gives me those same puppy dog eyes as Maison; the blaze turning to something softer.

It’s enough to make me relent, especially since he addressed me by name. Despite his facetiousness, he acknowledged my existence in a nonthreatening way.

He leans down and puts his hand out, offering me a hand up. I almost want to tell him to suck on an egg, but my muscles are still aching from the crash and the hard hours that followed. So I reach up and grab his hand, letting him pull me to my feet. I didn’t notice how weak I was until now, after sleeping outside. The crash had a bigger impact than I thought. I nearly buckle over backward, and he has to catch me. His hockey instincts no doubt, rather than being chivalrous.

His eyes flicker, and his hands hold me, steady me, as I fall into him, but the brooding scowl remains on his face.

“You need water,” he informs and stares at my lips. He doesn’t look at them in the lusty way Maison did yesterday. It’s because they are chapped and dry. “I have some back at the plane.”

I didn’t notice how dehydrated I am, and I don’t even want to think about how much water we have left and what it means if we run out. I will take his offer for some without complaint.

“Thank you,” I say meekly. He lets go of me, but the heat of his body lingers. He follows me from a distance, undoubtedly looking at his last name on the back of my sweater. I glance back at him, and just as I suspected, his eyes are drawn to my backside. He flicks his dark eyes to meet mine.

Cocky, so incredibly cocky.

Well, this sweater is mine now, so he better get used to seeing me wear it.

I turn on my heels and stomp off toward where the group is gathered by the plane. Twelve of us standing—four lying on the ground, alive but barely moving. We did everything we could to make them comfortable.

As I walk up, I gasp at the sight that lays before me. It’s worse than I thought. The scene’s full of horror was concealed by the night.

The blood from the victims is still smeared on the ground, along with the shattered glass and the broken and fallen trees. The trees in the heavily wooded area we landed in are lifeless and resemble charcoal skeletons—nothing like the pictures of Alaska I saw online. I’m not sure if these gnarled fir trees helped or hindered the impact of the landing.

I wish I stayed hidden in the forest because I immediately bend over and gag from the smell and the sight of the plane. Maison is leaning against a tree, his arms wrapped around a trembling Serena when I walk up. It seems like they just got out of bed.

He tilts his head and stands upright when he notices me walking up with his brother. Micah pays me little mind and steps toward Naomi, placing his arm around her. I avoid eye contact with both of them and stand next to Nigel and Jade. I hate the feeling that I’m jealous of Maison giving Serena attention after what we went through last night, almost dying in each other’s arms. Like I might want his arms around me at night, keeping me warm instead.

I dismiss the thought. This is not the time or place for these feelings. Not when there are a pile of bodies hidden in the trees twenty feet away.

The boys at least moved them during the night, so they are out of sight, but they are there—all thirty-two of them. A heavy presence that looms over us all, poisoning the very air we breathe with their decay.

“We have to bury them,” Micah says. Ezra, who’s standing next to him, ignores him and can’t seem to take his eyes off a shivering Naomi in Micah’s arms.

Ezra—I had all but forgotten about him and his complicated relationship with the twins. The fact his girlfriend of just a few months ago is now in the arms of his nemesis. I wonder if any of them know the situation between their parents.

Ezra crosses his muscular arms. “I’m not wasting my energy on that. Let the emergency crew deal with them when they rescue us.”

The rescue team we expected hours ago has yet to arrive. My stomach hollows at what that means. They should have been here by now—they should have been able to pinpoint our exact spot and find us within minutes. It’s now been at least ten hours.

“I’m more worried about what to do with them.” Ezra jerks his chin toward our injured peers, withering on the cold, hard ground.

Thomas steps forward, his muscled body still wearing the suit from last night. He was the unsung hero from what I saw. He single-handedly carried most people off that plane—dead or otherwise. And unfortunately, his suit bears those scars. He speaks for Micah, stepping right in front of him, as if protecting his friend from some unseen enemy on the hockey rink. “We aren’t leaving anyone dead above ground to be eaten by animals. And we can’t stay here with them like that,” he gripes at Ezra. No love between the two of them, either, it seems.

Ezra steps back and squares his angular jaw, obviously not wanting to be that close to the muscular giant, even though they are all supposedly friends.

“I just mean,” he says flippantly, “we only have so much energy right now, and we need to get on the plane to get into those crates. I don’t want to sleep on the ground again tonight, and I’m hungry.”