Page 110 of The Final Contract
An elbow smashes into one guard’s face, the crunch of breaking bone echoing in the chamber. The man howls, blood pouring from his ruined nose. Killian turns his head, slamming his skull into the other man’s with brutal precision. The guard reels, dazed, and Killian’s fist follows, crushing across his jaw and sending him stumbling.
The man staggers. Trips over debris. Falls?—
And I move before I think.
The shard is still in my hand, slick with my blood. I raise it high and chase him down, the world narrowing to fire, smoke, and survival.
When his body slams against the concrete, I drive the glass deep into his neck. It slides through flesh and sinew, crunching against the ground beneath as it bursts out the other side. The shard shatters, jagged edges cracking, blood flooding hot over my hand.
The man jerks once, twice, then goes still.
I stay there, shaking, breath ragged, staring at what I’ve done.
And when I lift my head, my eyes lock with Killian’s across the smoke and fire.
Freedom’s at my back.
Between me and the woman I love are two men that need to die, and a fire that wants to take her from me.
The church won’t last much longer. Flames crawl up the toppled cabinet Cormac shoved into the pyre, climbing the wall, licking at the ceiling. Smoke thickens—choking, turning every breath into a burn. The beam Seraphina was tied to glows at its base, embers spreading upward. When the fire reaches the ceiling joists, the whole goddamn place is coming down.
And then—Cormac’s scream cuts through it all.
He’s rolling, back a sheet of flame, arms flailing. The stench of burning flesh hits me like a hammer. One of his men tears off his jacket, beating at the fire, smothering the blaze before it eats him alive.
It gives me my second.
I take the steps fast, sliding to my knees at her side, next to the bastard she just killed. She’s shaking, sobbing, blood everywhere.
“Killian.” Her voice cracks, breaking me open.
She’s hurt. Bad. Her thigh is pouring blood, her wrists torn raw from the ropes.
I need her gone. I need her safe so I can put my brother in the ground where he belongs. Because after what he’s done to her—after what I’ve just seen—I’m not walking out of here without making him bleed.
Touching her is like life coming back to me.
My knife’s in my hand before I even think, slicing through the bindings on her wrists. She collapses into me, arms tight around my neck, sobbing my name, kissing me like I’m the only thing tethering her to this earth. I kiss her back hard, smoke and salt and blood between us.
“Go. Find Lucian. Get out of here,” I rasp, but she shakes her head.
“Not without you.” Her hands cradle my face, eyes fierce even through tears. “When you go, I go.”
Fucking stubborn, beautiful angel.
Her leg is bleeding like hell. I rip my shirt over my head, tear a strip free, and bind it tight around the wound. She hisses through her teeth but doesn’t pull away. I knot it fast, my hands slick, furious at the blood soaking through already.
“Please, baby,” I growl. “Get out of here.”
Her grip only tightens. Her eyes, red-rimmed and wet, don’t waver. “Not without you.”
Behind us, Cormac coughs out a laugh, hoarse and mean, singed but not dead. “That all you got, brother?” he jeers, spitting blood, voice echoing through the chamber. His man beside him looks ready—fists clenched, eyes locked on me like he’s hungry for another round.
I look back at her.
She’s everything.
I take one more kiss—hard, hasty, desperate—before I rip myself free. “Don’t get killed,” I command, fire in my voice.
