Chapter 11

More bullets came in through the open window, each stopped by the opposite wall, a few ricocheting into the ceiling. She tried to stem her tears in the flurry of gunfire, but she could taste death, she could touch her own mortality, and she had never been so helpless in her life. Gradually, the bullets stopped, redirected from her to Ford.

Eliza bit her lip, her hand still wrapped tightly around the gun. She wanted to have a shot at Corbett’s head, wanted to get her own revenge. But she knew that she’d probably miss him and draw their collective attention again—but if they were paying attention to her, wouldn’t that give Ford the chance to take them out?