Olivia
The gunshot never came.
Slowly, almost dreading what fresh horror awaited me, I peeled my eyes open.
And blinked in utter disbelief.
We were surrounded—not by more goons as I had feared, but by a sea of grim-faced women, all of whom held various weapons; rifles, shotguns, batons, one even held a pickaxe that she seemed to have picked up from the abandoned quarry that we had found ourselves in. I realized, in an instant, that I recognized them all. The escorts.
Mira stood at the forefront, looking vengeful as ever as she pointed a shotgun directly at Montgomery’s skull. Despite the tears streaking down her cheeks and the way her hands trembled, she was unwavering in her stance.
She was ready to kill. I think she may have even craved it.
I felt a swell of
