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Chapter 698
Chapter 698:
“Sienna, move!” Liam grabbed her arm, trying to drag her up the stairs.
But the ceiling beam above them groaned.
CRACK.
A massive timber, wreathed in flame, crashed down between them.
Liam was thrown backward by the concussive force. He hit the wall hard, his head spinning.
Sienna was on the other side of the beam. The fire swallowed her scream.
He couldn’t save the servers. He couldn’t save Sienna.
He scrambled toward the side exit, the heat blistering his back. The roar of the fire was deafening, drowning out his own thoughts.
He burst out of the side door, tumbling onto the grass, coughing violently.
Seconds later, the armored SUV screeched through the front gates.
I saw the house. It was an inferno. The entire east wing was consumed.
“No!” I screamed. I threw the door open before the vehicle even stopped.
I ran toward the flames. “Liam p>
“Skye! Stop p>
Alistair caught me around the waist just as I reached the edge of the heat. The fire was a living monster, roaring and spitting sparks into the night sky.
“Let me go!” I fought him, clawing at his arms. “He’s in there p>
“Look!” Alistair shouted, spinning me around. “Look at the garden p>
I followed his finger.
A dark shape was crawling through the smoke near the rose garden.
“Liam?” I whispered.
I broke free from Alistair and sprinted.
Liam collapsed onto his back, gasping for air. His face was blackened with soot, his eyebrows singed.
𝗦𝘂р𝗽𝗈r𝗍 𝗍𝘩е а𝘂𝘵𝗁𝘰𝗋 𝖻𝘺 r𝘦𝗮𝘥𝗶ng 𝗈n 𝗯e.сo𝘮
I fell to my knees beside him. I ran my hands over his chest, his face, checking for blood.
“You idiot,” I sobbed. “You absolute idiot p>
Liam opened his eyes. They were red-rimmed and watery, but they were alive. He reached up and touched my face, leaving a streak of ash on my cheek.
“The keys…” he rasped, coughing dark phlegm. “Gone. Sienna… she’s inside. She didn’t make it p>
“I don’t care about the keys,” I cried, burying my face in his smoke-soaked shirt. “And Sienna made her choice. I only care about you p>
Meanwhile, in Haven City, Victoria Hayes was not having a good night.
She was huddled in the back seat of the muscle car where we had left her, watching the flashing lights of the police cars surrounding the Neon Abyss. The extraction team Alistair promised hadn’t arrived yet—traffic was gridlocked.
“Pick up, pick up,” she muttered, trying to call Parker, who had climbed into the front seat to check the dashboard computer.
A heavy thud against the window made her scream.