Page 42 of Enduring Promise

“You just don’t know when to quit, do you?” Michael sneered, his grip tightening on Hillary’s arm.

Russ didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. His legs pumped harder, his fists clenched at his sides as he closed the final gap between them. Michael barely had time to react before Russ barreled into him, his shoulder driving into Michael’s chest with enough force to knock him off balance.

Hillary stumbled back, falling to her knees as Russ and Michael went down in a tangle of limbs. The heat from the fire was unbearable now, the roar of the flames drowning out all other sound. But Russ didn’t care. All he could think about was the man beneath him, the man who had dared to hurt Hillary, who had dared to hurt any of them.

Michael twisted, his elbow jamming into Russ’s ribs, but Russ didn’t let go. He landed a solid punch to Michael’s jaw, the impact reverberating through his arm.

Michael spat blood, his lips curling into a sinister smile even as he struggled beneath Russ’s weight.

“Hillary, run!” Russ shouted, his voice strained as he fought to keep Michael pinned.

But she didn’t move. She was still on her knees, her hands clutching at the ground as if trying to steady herself. Her face was pale, her breaths shallow, but her eyes burned with determination.

“Hillary!” Russ bellowed again. “Go!”

Michael raged and rolled with fury until he’d flung Russ off him. He had his eyes set back on Hillary, who’d done her best to crawl away. For a moment it looked as though Michael would reach her again. Until they all heard the noise.

CHAPTER 41

Hillary’s breath came in ragged gasps as she clawed at the ground, trying to put as much distance as she could between herself and Michael. Her body screamed in protest, her legs heavy and trembling, but her focus was singular: escape.

Michael was back on his feet, looming over her like a dark specter. His shirt was torn, his face streaked with soot and blood, and his wild eyes burned with a kind of fury she’d never seen before. She froze as he took a slow, deliberate step toward her, his lips curling into a twisted grin.

“You’re tough, Hillary,” Michael hissed, his voice low and venomous. “But don’t worry. This will all be over soon.”

Hillary’s eyes darted around desperately, searching for something—anything—that could save her. Russ was struggling to regain his footing a few yards away, but he wouldn’t get to her in time. Michael was too close now, his shadow swallowing her whole.

Then came the noise.

The low, guttural growl of an engine roared to life, cutting through the chaos like a thunderclap. Gravel spat and skidded behind a car, and Hillary’s head whipped around just in time to see a sleek black sedan barreling toward them. Her heart caughtin her throat as the car surged forward, its headlights cutting through the hazy, smoke-filled air.

Michael turned, his expression twisting into one of shock and disbelief. The last-second realization hit him like the car itself. His eyes widened, his lips parted as if to scream, but no sound came.

The impact was brutal. The car slammed into Michael with a sickening thud, sending him soaring into the air like a ragdoll. He landed with a bone-jarring crash several feet away, his body crumpling against the hard ground.

For a moment, everything went silent. Hillary’s chest heaved as she stared at the scene in stunned disbelief. The car screeched to a halt, the engine cutting off abruptly. The driver’s door opened, and Madame Fournier stepped out, her expression calm and composed as if she’d merely swatted a fly.

Russ was on Hillary in seconds, dropping to his knees beside her and pulling her into his arms. “Hillary,” he breathed, his voice cracking with relief. His hands cupped her face, his thumbs brushing away the soot and dirt smudged across her cheeks. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“I’m... I’m fine,” she stammered, though her voice was shaky. Her hands clutched at his shirt, grounding herself in the solid weight of him. “Is he?—?”

“Alive,” Russ muttered grimly, his gaze flicking to where Michael lay sprawled on the ground. “Unfortunately.”

The sound of shouting drew their attention as the police finally arrived, their voices cutting through the morning. They rushed toward the scene, weapons drawn, only to find Michael groaning weakly on the ground.

“He’s down,” one of the officers called out, motioning for his colleagues to lower their weapons. “Get the medics over here!”

A pair of EMTs pushed through the crowd, kneeling beside Michael to assess his injuries. One of the officers began readinghim his rights, their voice firm and unwavering despite the chaos around them. Michael groaned in protest, but his struggles were weak and uncoordinated.

Madame Fournier dusted off her gown as she approached Hillary and Russ, her expression calm but her eyes sharp with determination. “Well,” she said, her tone almost conversational, “that was satisfying.”

Russ let out a breathy laugh, his grip on Hillary tightening slightly. “I did promise you’d get your shot at making him pay,” he said, a grin tugging at the corner of his lips. “Though I didn’t think you’d take it quite so... literally.”

Madame Fournier raised an eyebrow, a faint smile playing on her lips. “I am true to my word. I said he’d pay for what he’d done. I just didn’t say the currency would be broken bones.”

Hillary let out a shaky laugh, her body finally beginning to relax as the reality of what had just happened sank in. “Remind me never to get on your bad side,” she said, her voice still tinged with disbelief.

Madame Fournier’s smile widened slightly. “Consider it a standing warning,” she said, her tone wry. Her gaze softened as she looked down at Hillary, her hand resting lightly on her shoulder. “But more importantly, are you alright?”

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