Page 109 of The Final Contract

Killian against two—fists and fury echoing like thunder in this stone tomb. Every time he swings, his gaze flicks to me—panic in his eyes, desperation carved into his face. He knows. He knows I have minutes, maybe less, before the flames devour me.

Cormac smirks, inspired by the discarded furniture littering the open room, and heaves a tall cabinet into the blaze. It topples with a crash, wood splintering, glass doors shattering asit slams against my side and the stacked timber around me. The fire leaps higher, swallowing greedily. The sharp edge of glass punches deep into my thigh.

My scream tears out but dies against the gag, strangled and useless.

I look down, chest heaving, and see the shard—long, jagged, buried to the hilt in muscle. My hands tremble so hard I can barely keep focus, but I know. I can use it. It missed anything vital. It’s sharp. It’s hope.

I push everything else—the fire, Cormac, Killian—to the back of my mind and fix on the shard. My fingers close around it, slippery with sweat and soot. I pull. My body jerks in revolt, pain blazing up my thigh, so raw it steals the breath from my lungs. My muffled scream burns my throat, tears flooding my smoke-stung eyes.

I can do this.

I breathe steady through my nose, force my hands back. Fix my grip and pull.

The torment is white-hot and searing, but I wrench it free, careful not to let it slip from my shaking hands. The shard drips with my blood, slick and red, but it’s mine. It’s salvation.

I twist it against the ropes binding my torso—sawing, sawing. Each drag slices my palms open further, blood mixing with soot, the shard threatening to slide loose. I grit my teeth, hold on, force it down, again and again.

“Cormac!” Killian calls out to his brother.

I look up—his gray eyes lock on mine just as a fist crashes into his gut, folding him over, another smashing across his face. The men seize his arms, holding him wide open.

It works. Cormac stops throwing things into the fire and steps toward him.

I can’t hear his words over the roar of fire, but I see the grin. The promise.

I can’t stop. I can’t let the fire touch me, can’t let him fall. The flames crawl higher, licking at my arms, singeing my skin. My clothes will catch soon. Once they do, it’s over.

I saw harder, sobs shaking me, tears blurring my vision. I don’t look away. Can’t. Even as the fire sears closer, even as Killian bleeds. I keep sawing, desperate, frantic?—

Until the rope gives with a snap.

It slacks, falling away from my torso. My arms wrench upward, pushing the coil higher until I can duck and slide out from under it. My wrists are still bound tight, skin flayed raw, but I’m free of the beam.

The fire rages behind me, heat blistering at my back. The cut in my thigh throbs with every movement, blood slicking my leg, but I can move. I stumble, eyes searching—anywhere to jump, to roll, to throw myself clear of the pyre before it swallows me whole.

The toppled cabinet becomes my salvation. Its splintered side juts just far enough from the pyre to give me a foothold.

I steady myself, rope-burned wrists clumsy, thigh screaming with every move. My balance falters, but I push. Jump.

The injured leg drags me down like an anchor. I don’t make the distance I need. My lower leg plunges into the fire, heat searing through denim as flames clutch hungrily at my calf. Pain tears a scream from my throat as I roll, slapping frantically until the blaze dies, leaving scorched patches across my jeans.

But I’m out. Free.

I rip the gag from my mouth, chest heaving, lungs aching for air. My voice rips raw, louder than the roar of the fire.

“Killian!”

Two of Cormac’s men hold him wide, his arms stretched, his face bloodied—his lip split, blood running in a dark line from his brow down the scar carved there years before.

He looks up when he hears me.

And something changes.

The pain is still there, but beneath it is iron. Determination. Rage sharpened to a single point.

He surges, using their hold against them, and drives his boot into Cormac’s chest. The impact cracks like thunder, sending his brother flying backward toward the furnace he created.

He doesn’t stop.