CHAPTER 35 Maeve #2
I rip the hem of my black t-shirt, tearing a long, thick strip of cotton. I press it directly into the jagged wound on his shoulder, applying my entire body weight to stop the arterial flow.
Declan’s back arches off the floor, a sharp hiss tearing through his teeth.
"I know, I know it hurts," I cry, my hands covered in his hot blood. "Just stay with me. Leo is going to send someone. He has to."
"Leo went dark," Declan reminds me, his voice fading, his eyes beginning to drift shut again.
"He didn't go dark," I insist, pressing harder on the wound. "He's your guy. He wouldn't abandon you."
"He follows orders."
"Well, I don't!" I shout, the panic finally breaking through my cold focus. "So you aren't allowed to die on me, Declan Vance! Do you hear me? You ruined my life, you stole me, and you made me fall in love with you! You do not get to leave me alone on this island!"
The words echo in the ruined cavern, harsh and desperate.
Declan’s eyes open. The cloudy haze of pain vanishes for a fraction of a second, pierced by the absolute clarity of what I just said.
He reaches up with his uninjured right arm, his bloody hand wrapping around the back of my neck. He pulls me down until my forehead rests against his.
"Say it again," he demands, his voice a fierce, ragged whisper.
"I love you," I sob against his skin, the truth tearing out of my chest, undeniable and absolute. "I love you, you terrifying monster. So please, don't leave me."
"I am not going anywhere," he vows, his fingers tangling in my hair, holding me against him with a grip that refuses to yield to death. "I am yours. Completely."
We stay like that in the dark, the dust settling around us, the silence of the ruined armory broken only by the harsh sound of our breathing. I keep the pressure on his shoulder, my hands cramping with the effort, refusing to let go.
I don't know how much time passes. It could be minutes. It could be hours.
The pale moonlight filtering through the ceiling slowly begins to shift, turning the color of bruised purple and dull gray as dawn breaks over the ocean.
A low, rhythmic thumping sound begins to vibrate through the stone walls.
I lift my head, my ears straining to identify the noise.
It isn't the ocean. It isn't a boat.
It’s the heavy, unmistakable thwack-thwack-thwack of helicopter rotors.
The sound grows deafening, hovering directly over the ruined house. A brilliant, blinding white searchlight cuts through the hole in the ceiling, sweeping across the rubble and landing directly on us.
"Dec!" a voice echoes through a megaphone above us. "Alpha One, do you copy?"
It’s Leo.
He didn't go dark. He came back.
I look down at Declan. He is unconscious, his breathing shallow but steady. The makeshift tourniquet is soaked, but the bleeding has slowed.
"We're here!" I scream, waving my bloody hand in the beam of the searchlight. "We're down here! He needs a medic!"
Ropes drop through the hole in the ceiling. Dark figures in tactical gear begin to rappel down into the armory, their boots hitting the rubble with precise, practiced movements.
A medic rushes toward us, dropping a heavy red trauma bag onto the concrete. He gently pushes my hands away, replacing my torn t-shirt with a professional pressure dressing.
"We've got him, ma'am," the medic says, his voice calm and authoritative. "He's stable. We're going to get him out."
I step back, my legs trembling so badly I almost fall.
Two operatives secure Declan to a rigid extraction litter, attaching the heavy carabiners to the winch line dropping from the helicopter. They signal the pilot, and Declan is slowly hoisted up through the ruined ceiling, ascending into the bright white light.
An operative turns to me, offering a heavy canvas harness. "Your turn, Miss Gallagher."
I let him strap me in. I don't look back at the ruined armory. I don't look at Vargas's body lying in the shadows.
The winch engages, pulling me off the ground.
I rise through the shattered floorboards of the living room, past the broken steel shutters and the ruined infinity pool, until I breach the roofline and the cool, morning air of the Bahamas hits my face.
The helicopter cabin is chaotic, filled with operatives and the deafening roar of the engines.
They pull me inside. I immediately scramble across the metal floor, ignoring the operatives, and drop to my knees beside the litter where Declan is strapped down. The medic has an IV line running into his arm, pushing fluids into his system.
Declan’s eyes are closed, his face pale beneath the dirt and blood, but his chest is rising and falling in a strong, steady rhythm.
I reach out, my fingers wrapping tightly around his right hand.
His fingers twitch. Even unconscious, his body recognizes my touch. He grips my hand back, a weak but undeniable pressure.
Leo turns around from the co-pilot's seat, pulling his headset down around his neck. He looks at me, taking in the blood, the dust, and the absolute exhaustion on my face.
"I told you he doesn't die," Leo says, a faint, relieved smile touching his lips.
"I know," I whisper, looking down at the man who burned his world down to save mine.
The helicopter banks sharply, turning away from the smoking ruins of the island, and flies north into the rising sun.
We have no home. We have no names. We are ghosts, completely untethered from the world.
But as I hold Declan’s hand, the heavy, suffocating fear that has chased me for weeks finally evaporates.
I am not hiding anymore.
I am exactly where I belong.