Chapter 119

**Hadassah POV**

Emilia has her one hand fisted around the back of Armend collar with the hand lifted with the barrel of the gun pressed against the back of his head as she drives him forward. Ahead of them, I march first into the ballroom with the rifle aimed at the ceiling and the butt comfortably perched on my shoulder.
An extraordinary sight meets my gaze. The low lit hall that is furnished with plush furniture—round and extravagant seating areas and the vacant stage as the focal feature. All of the men are slumped against their seats, most with their faces angled towards the ceiling with their mouths agape—passed out. Even the ones that are conscious are way too disoriented to make sense of anything with their bleary-eyed stares scanning their rooms without a thought behind their eyes. I make way to the high-raised, black laminated stage with the women who are so perplexed it stirs a panic.
I use my free hand to grab the pole at the forefront to swing myself onto the stage. The arrival demands attention of the women, but not enough to quieten the murmuring rush of fear. I try to silence the room, but that request is met with a flurry of foreign words. A server chucks her tray on the ground and pushes past everyone to make her way to the front. She extends her hand to me expectantly and with a curious quirk of my brows; I take her and she latches onto my forearm so I can hoist her up onto the stage with me.
She turns around and the range of her voice carries to the end of the room. I don’t know what she’s saying but her authoritative voice even commands my attention. And a harried hush falls over the room as they listen attentively. Then she signals to me with a look of anticipation.
“We don’t have a lot of time. This is what we’re going to do.”
I speak and the server translates everything.
And for those who speak other foreign languages they confer with one another so they make sure that all the women know exactly what to do. Stay close. Stay Low. Stay behind Emilia. Because we need to retreat further into the inner sanctum of the palace to ride the elevator to the underground parking garage because there is no way we’re escaping the palace grounds on foot.
I ease myself off stage and I make way towards the back, striding towards the archway. And when I reach the frame to look out, a spray of bullets—a booming bombardment and I dart back so hard so fast I crash on the ground.
On the floor, I heft the rifle as I slip off and chuck away my heels. A ripple of motion goes through the room as all the women do the same, dipping into their natural height. Emilia rams him forward and pushes him out of the archway and Armend screams for them not to shoot. And in that moment of reluctant stillness—Emilia whips out and down with one knee on the floor—three shots followed by pained half-screams. I rise with the rifle locked in my arms as Emilia goes ahead to restore her hold on Armend and glances back to nod to signal that it’s clear.
She goes ahead with Armend and I watch as swarms of servers and slaves gush out of the ballroom. And I wait until I alone remain so I can follow from behind. The grandeur of the palace looms all around us, its gaudiness grim, its opulent halls now echoing with the frantic rush of our desperate escape. I never saw the crash, but a few stray bullets had clearly destabilized the light fixtures. Shattered chandeliers and splintered marble tiles mark our path as we sprint through the labyrinthine corridors, our footsteps a cacophony of chaos. The air is charged with adrenaline, every breath coming in sharp, ragged bursts.
And then I hear it. The distant rumble and imminent stampede. Another small group of the palace’s internal team is closing in, their boots thundering as they pursue with ruthless precision. Each carries an array of weaponry, their movements coordinated and deadly efficient.
They don’t shoot on sight, because they can’t, not exactly because they knew the women’s worth and would try to capture before going for the kill. And that is a factor I happily exploit. I dart into a random passageway, flattening myself against the surface and I wait until all the girls have vanished around the corner. Promptly, four men speed past me and when they’re all ahead—I jump back out to flip off the safety to mow them down from behind and they convulse as they’re being hailed with bullets before they drop to the ground.
I run ahead, racing to catch up to the others. And Emilia had everyone waiting outside until I appeared. Considerately and without any words needed, the women split apart, creating a single channel for Emilia to communicate from without us having to waste time to reach each other.
“Take the first group and check if it’s all clear down there. I’ll cover up top and send them your way then, then I’m going back.”
“Back?” she yells from the other end of the hall. “Where you going?”
“I have to get the girl I hid in the makeup room—not leaving anyone behind, remember.”
“Are you stupid? Most of the security are waiting on a bluff, but it’s likely those men informed the other guards of our little mutiny—how do we know if they’re not all on their way now?”
“Which is why we should stop wasting time.”
“I’ll go with her,” the server that translated for me volunteers. “I’m not good with a gun but I’d love a chance to kill these fuckers.”
Impressed, I grin back at her before she pivots to inform everyone that the plan has not changed. And that they will still follow Emilia. So she opens the elevator with a push of the button. And she forced Armend to take them to the underground parking. He winces from the hard nudge as he tentatively keys in a security code with a flurry of rapid taps, sweat trickling down his brow. Emilia beckons the first group of all girls since obviously they all can’t fit. It will take at least three trips to get everyone down there.
“What’s your name?”
“Sasha,” the server girl says.
“Until we get you a weapon. I need you behind me.”
She snaps a determined nod.
“I need all of you to flank the corridors,” I instruct, gesticulating, fingers pointing back and forth. “I need you out of sight from the primary passage, so if another horde comes down. They don’t take you all out.”
Sasha reiterates this and they shuffle apart, some moving opposite me and some scurrying to line up behind me but away from the front of the elevator. A high-strung moment suspended in tension with the dread-drilling anticipation hanging heavily in the air. The elevator pings open and it’s only Emilia. Her mouth opens then her eyes explode wide before she dives back and slams a button—a burst of bullets from beyond shoot up the steel door leaving pit-deep impressions in the metal. I hunker down and I return fire—and I almost lose my head. I can’t fight back the same as trained armed men—they’re built for this. I have to go about it another way.
They think they're up against weak women so that is exactly the visage I'm going to give them.