[Travis's POV]
…
I've never hated myself more than I did in that moment.
The air was smoke and gunfire, the street torn to shreds by explosions, but all I could see was Jonas… bleeding out, his chest heaving like a cracked engine.
He'd taken the shot meant for me. He'd stood there like a damn wall when I couldn't even move, when I could do was stare like a fool.
And now he was dying, for me.
I pressed myself against the wreckage of a car, trembling so hard I thought the metal under my palms would shake apart.
My lungs wouldn't fill. My hands were useless, shaking, bloody, and empty. Every part of me screamed do something, but I couldn't.
I was just the cook, the medic, the useless bastard who tagged along with people way stronger than me.
Jonas roared once more, staggering, hammering through the enemy line, and then he dropped. Blood slicked the ground around him. His regeneration wasn't working anymore. The wounds were too deep, too many.
