Page 41 of Enduring Promise

Michael leaned closer, his breath hot against her ear. “Do you feel that, Hillary? That panic, that helplessness? That’s what I’ll make all of you feel before I’m done.”

Her panic reached a fever pitch as he shifted, pulling her up from the ground in one swift, brutal motion. She stumbled, her legs unsteady beneath her, but his grip on her wrist kept her upright. He twisted her arm painfully, forcing her to move as he dragged her back toward the burning house.

“No!” she managed to choke out, her voice hoarse and weak. She dug her heels into the gravel, pulling against him with all her strength, but it was useless. His grip was ironclad, his strength overwhelming.

“Stop fighting,” he snarled, his voice sharp with anger. “You’re only making this harder on yourself.”

Hillary’s mind screamed for her to do something, anything, but the sheer force of his strength paralyzed her. The flames from the house grew closer, the heat searing her skin even from a distance. She couldn’t let him take her back there. She wouldn’t.

Her free hand clawed at his, trying to loosen his grip, but he didn’t budge. Her breaths came in short, ragged gasps, her vision swimming as panic threatened to consume her.

“Let me go!” she rasped, her voice cracking with desperation.

Michael’s grip tightened, his expression darkening. “Not a chance,” he said, dragging her closer to the flames. “You’re coming with me.”

CHAPTER 40

The scene in the garages was chaos, but it was the kind of chaos fueled by adrenaline and a shared purpose: survival. People clamored for their keys, shouting car makes and models to the overwhelmed parking attendants who were desperately trying to match them to the neat rows of labeled hooks on the wall. Keys flew through the air as attendants tossed them to waiting hands, and drivers shouted out offers of rides to anyone who needed one.

“Take as many as you can fit!” someone called, their voice terrified.

Russ stood at the edge of the fray, his jaw tight as his eyes darted around, searching for one person.

Hillary.

He turned in circles, scanning every face, every cluster of people, but she wasn’t there. His chest tightened, and a gnawing sense of dread began to creep in. She was supposed to be here. She had to be here.

“Where the hell are you, Hillary?” he muttered under his breath, his fists clenching.

He moved back to the large bay door to look out. Something caught his eye—a flash of movement far beyond the garages, outnear the faint orange glow of the fire. Two figures, struggling against each other, moving back toward the house. His stomach dropped as the truth slammed into him like a freight train.

It was Hillary. And Michael.

“Damn it,” Russ growled, his breath catching in his throat. He felt like his blood had turned to ice, but the fury boiling beneath it pushed him forward.

Madame Fournier’s voice startled him as she appeared at his side, her calm demeanor shattered by the night’s events. “Russ,” she said urgently, placing a hand on his arm. “What’s wrong? We need to keep getting people out. They’re almost ready to leave.”

Russ shook her off, his eyes still fixed on the distant figures. “He’s got Hillary,” he said, his voice low and tight. “Michael’s dragging her back toward the fire.”

Madame Fournier’s eyes widened, her lips parting in shock. “What? No. That can’t be?—”

“I saw them,” Russ snapped, already moving toward the garage door. “I’m not letting him take her.”

“Russ!” Madame Fournier called after him, but he was already gone, his long strides eating up the distance as he bolted toward the struggling figures.

Every breath felt like fire in his chest, but he didn’t slow down. The gravel crunched beneath his boots as he sprinted, his focus narrowing to a single point: Hillary. He could see her now, her form slumped against Michael’s arm, her steps uneven as he dragged her closer to the house. She looked injured—her dress torn, her hair matted with soot and sweat. The sight made Russ’s vision blur with rage.

Michael looked feral, his movements erratic, his face lit with the eerie glow of the fire. He was muttering something, his grip on Hillary unyielding as she twisted weakly in his hold.

Russ’s heart pounded as the distance between them closed. His mind burned with a single, unshakable thought:I’m going to kill him.

He didn’t call out. He didn’t want to give Michael the chance to tighten his grip or do something reckless. Instead, he moved silently, his footsteps muffled by the soft grass as he veered off the gravel path to approach from the side.

They were only a few yards from the grand stone steps leading up to the inferno of the house when Russ made his move.

“Hillary!” he shouted, his voice a thunderclap in the chaos.

Both heads turned. Hillary’s wide, desperate eyes met his, and she opened her mouth to call out, but no sound came. Michael’s face twisted into something grotesque—a mixture of anger and triumph.

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