Total pages in book: 56
Estimated words: 54110 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 271(@200wpm)___ 216(@250wpm)___ 180(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54110 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 271(@200wpm)___ 216(@250wpm)___ 180(@300wpm)
“It’s all right, honey,” he said. “It will be all right—”
The plane convulsed harder and then dropped, and shrieks of terror filled the plane. They were now descending at an unforgiving speed. Vivian’s hand clenched his so hard it was painful.
Biting the inside of his cheek, Andrew looked around the cabin, trying to distract himself from the fear on his wife’s face.
His gaze locked with Logan’s. The other man’s eyes were grim, but his expression was calm and resolute. He didn’t look afraid. Unlike him, his redheaded lover was crying in his seat, gripping his seatbelt and muttering something under his breath.
Oxygen masks fell from their compartments, and Andrew numbly helped Vivian to put it on before grabbing his.
He breathed and held his wife’s hand, trying to remain calm.
For the first time in years, Andrew prayed.
Chapter 2
Logan groaned, hauling himself upright. His vision faded in and out, his body aching all over. He forced himself to focus.
The first thing he saw was Tom’s body.
Logan didn’t need to check Tom’s pulse to know that he was dead. There was a gaping wound in Tom’s head. Tom’s blue eyes were lifeless, still wide with fear.
Bile rose in his throat. He had known Tom for just a few days, but it was still incredibly unsettling to see the guy he’d been kissing a few hours ago dead. Christ, Tom hadn’t even been twenty-five yet.
Tearing his gaze away, Logan looked around. They were not losing altitude; that much was obvious. They’d landed, then. Crashed. It was light enough to see by, which meant that it was still day, wherever they’d landed. He tried to calculate just where they’d come down, based on the flight time, but came up blank. Okay; not important.
His gaze finally fell on the guy across the aisle. The guy—Andrew, if Logan remembered correctly—was crying, shaking his wife and begging her to wake up.
Logan stared at him, vaguely amazed by the transformation. Gone was the haughty, picture-perfect man sneering at him in contempt. This guy barely resembled him, his curly brown hair the only thing they had in common.
Shaking himself out of his stupor—had he hit his head?—Logan forced himself to move. He unbuckled his seatbelt and got to his feet, ignoring the dull pain in his ribs.
The plane was quiet. Too quiet. He had expected that there would be panic and people’s screams, but there was nothing. When Logan parted the partition that separated the first-class cabin from economy class, he found out why: part of the plane was gone.
Logan glanced at the cloudy sky and then at the beach nearby. It seemed the plane—what was left of it—had crashed into the shallow waters of some island, far enough from the storm the plane had been caught in. Or perhaps it had been hours. How long had he been unconscious?
No locals. No houses anywhere to be seen. No sign that there was anyone but them on the island. Probably uninhabited, then. Wherever the other half of the plane was, he couldn’t see it. It was possible it had already been swallowed by the ocean. Speaking of the ocean, it looked like the tide was coming in soon.
He returned inside and went to the cockpit. He didn’t have much hope that anyone inside it was alive, and his expectations turned out to be correct when he found the bodies of the pilot and co-pilot.
Sighing, Logan carried them out of the plane, one by one, then carried out Tom’s body. At last, there was only the bigot left. Him and his dead wife.
“Come on, carry her out,” Logan said gruffly. “We can’t leave the bodies here. The plane is going to flood when the tide comes.”
The guy lifted his head and blinked at him dazedly. His wide eyes were very green. Strange. Logan had thought they were blue.
He frowned and waved a hand in front of the guy’s face. “Did you hit your head? Do you understand what I’m saying? Come on, the tide is starting to come in. There’s no time to lose. Carry the body out.”
“The body,” the man repeated, looking lost. “She’s—she isn’t dead. She’s just unconscious.”
Logan looked away, his jaw clenching. He didn’t want to feel sorry for that bigoted dick, but it was impossible not to. “She’s dead,” he said, a little softer, glancing at the unnatural angle of her neck. He pressed his fingers to her throat, just to be sure, and wasn’t surprised not to find the pulse. “I’m sorry for your loss, but we have to move. You can’t stay here. Carry her out.”
He didn’t wait for the guy to follow his instructions. There was no time to babysit him: judging by the height of the waves, they had very little time left. So Logan busied himself with getting the carry-on bags out of the plane, and then all the food and water he could find. He had no idea when rescue would come, so it was better to be prepared than not.