Page 46 of The Darkest Hour
The image was vivid—steam rose from the hot broth, the fragrant aroma of herbs and spices tickled my nostrils. I could even feel the soft chew of tender beef and noodles in my mouth.
My stomach growled.
I opened my eyes, wishing it were right there.
But of course, only the ocean peered back at me.
She lifted her gaze to me. “And what about you?”
“Me?”
“What’s your favorite thing to eat?”
“There's a diner an hour outside of Atlanta. They make this incredible bacon cheeseburger. Thick, juicy patty, melted cheese, crispy bacon. And the fries. . .” I licked my lips. “God, the fries are perfect. Crunchy on the outside, soft on the inside.”
She chuckled softly. “We're going to make ourselves even hungrier talking like this.”
“Yeah, but it's better than thinking about the cold and the upcoming storm.” Once again, I tightened my hold on her a little bit more. At this point, I might squeeze the life out of her. She just felt so damn good in my arms.
Thankfully, she said nothing and gave no physical protest, telling me that she enjoyed our hold as much as I did.
We fell silent for a moment, and I listened to the rhythm of the waves and the distant rumble of thunder.
It was strange how such a simple conversation could bring so much comfort, how imagining a future beyond this nightmare could make the present a little more bearable.
More drops fell, landing on my skin and causing a shiver to run down my spine.
“Tell me something about you,” I said, hoping to get my mind off the rain. “Something real.”
She was quiet for a moment, as if considering what to share, then she finally spoke, “I used to dance. . .ballet. Started when I was three. It was my whole world for a long time.”
That’s why when you kill you look like you’re dancing. Interesting.
“Why did you stop dancing?”
Her voice grew distant, as if she were looking back through a fog of memories. “When I was eighteen, my parents died in a car accident. Left me alone with my younger brother.”
I tensed.
“I tried to keep dancing, but we needed money, and fast. I had to grow up overnight.”
I could hear the pain in her voice, the lingering sorrow of a lost dream. “I'm sorry.”
It was the first time in many years that I’d ever uttered those two words. I was not the sort of man that ever apologized to anyone.
And I damn sure never had a long enough conversation with a woman to comfort her.
Onyx continued, her voice steady but tinged with bitterness. “I started working whatever jobs I could find. Waitressing, cleaning, anything to keep us afloat. I even. . .sold weed here and there.”
A dark chuckle left me. “Nothing wrong with that.”
“All of those jobs were never enough. . .so I got into dealing heavy drugs—cocaine. . .crack. . .meth—I was forced to purchase a gun.”
“One would need a gun.”
“And as you know. . .when you have a gun and are selling those items. . .the chances of shooting someone go up.”
“Of course.”