His words settled like a boulder in my chest, making it difficult to breathe.
“Abigail,” he said in a bright voice, looking toward the woman who’d been at his side earlier. “You may go first.”
“Thank you, Father.” She rushed toward the table and excitedly selected a gun.
When she turned toward Henry, it took everything in me not to tackle her to the ground. I wanted to. God, I wanted to. I just didn’t know what I was supposed to do. There were twelve women, plus Josiah. Some of them looked as horrified as I felt, so they hadn’t been completely brainwashed yet. Even so, the odds weren’t exactly in my favor.
I lifted my gaze toward Henry, but he wasn’t looking at me. Instead, he was staring at Abigail without fear.
Without apology.
Without remorse.
She lifted the revolver with both hands, every second seeming to last an eternity as I waited to see what the outcome would be.
“Predator,” she spat out.
Then she pulled the trigger.
Click.
My knees buckled with relief, but it was short-lived because Josiah was already calling for the next woman.
Again, she lifted her chosen revolver and pulled the trigger.
Another click.
One by one, Josiah called each woman forward.
And with each empty chamber, my nerves were stretched tighter and tighter until I was convinced they might snap.
Some women trembled while holding the gun, against this but too scared to voice their objections.
Others smiled with glee.
One spat into Henry’s face before pulling the trigger.
One kicked him in the groin.
Insults flew from their mouths with terrifying conviction.
And through it all, Henry refused to show a single ounce of fear.
“Your turn, Seraphine,” Josiah announced after Tabitha had gone. As expected, she was excited for the chance, then disappointed when she wasn’t the one to kill him.
The chapel suddenly felt unbearably hot. Candle smoke thickened the air. Sweat slid down my spine.
I could feel every pair of eyes following me as I struggled to put one foot in front of the other.
Especially Josiah’s.
I timidly moved toward the table, passing Sarah on my way. As I did, I briefly met her gaze, fear and terror swirling in her green depths. I tried to give her a reassuring look but probably failed miserably.
When I approached the table, all I could do was stare at the revolvers, too frozen in fear to move, my breaths becoming rapid and uneven.
“Choose, Seraphine.”
Panic clawed through me as my eyes swept over the three guns, at a complete loss as to which one to pick.
