My heart is crawling up my throat.
I knew—I knew what I might find in here. But the devastation of seeing them, of having them be so real…
My eyes fill with tears, and I lower the gun to my side.
Freya would have been in a room like this.
“We—” I have to swallow. “We’re here to help.”
The women—closer to Freya’s age than my own—all look at me, then glance past me to the empty hallway.
“There are more of us,” I promise. “I’m not—I’m sorry.”
I fight down a sob. They don’t need my sympathy.
They need me to keep my shit together.
“Come with—”
Before I can finish, a door I hadn’t noticed on the far side of the room opens, and Gabriel Marcoux steps through.
I swing my gun up, shakily aiming at him, and steady it with my left hand.
“Isn’t this sweet.” He takes a menacing step forward.
“Stop!” My voice is hoarse, but I yell it as loud as I can and move farther into the room, putting myself between Gabriel and the women.
I can’t do much. But I can do this.
“What?” he laughs. “You’re going to kill me, an unarmed man, in cold blood?” He shakes his head. “You’re not like the women upstairs. Quit pretending to be.” He takes another step forward and points to the women behind me. “This isn’t about you.”
I think of the way Hans holds me like he’s afraid to lose me.
I think of those three lonely graves somewhere in this desert.
I think of all the women whose voices are never heard.
And I think about how much better the world will be without this piece of shit man in it.
“No, it’s not about me.” I take a breath. “But this fight belongs to all of us.”
I pull the trigger.
