𝐒𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐞 - JJ Maybank

Chapter 122: Stealthy

Grace's lungs burned in her chest as she finally took a break from the endless running.

Scanning the small courtyard to ensure she wasn't in immediate danger, Grace quickly clambered into a nearby house.

The feeling of being alone pressed down on her like a dumbbell. Despite sitting down on the sandy floor and taking in deep puffs of air, she just couldn't catch her breath.

She didn't know what to do.

Splitting up from JJ was one thing, but losing Pope and Cleo was another.

When the distant sound of a rifle banging sounded out, she flinched violently, pressing herself back into the wall she was propped against and resting her head on her knees.

"Think, Grace. Think," she mumbled to herself, voice being drowned out in her dust covered skin.

Where on earth could her friends be? 

The obvious answer was to go towards the gunfire, but she was paralyzed with fear. 

The inability to get herself up and moving again was a self-perpetuating cycle; being frustrated at herself for feeling trapped only made the feeling worse.

Peeling her head from her knees and staring around the room she'd found herself in, her vision was blurred with unshed tears.

A faded orange curtain that was fraying at the bottom was strung up over an archway.

A once colourful ceramic vase, dimmed by wear and tear, rested on the counter.

A table lined by mismatched chairs, one of which teetered on wobbly legs in the warm breeze, sat under a tiny stained glass window.

She sucked in a deep breath. "I've got this. I've got this..." She whispered it over and over again like a mantra as she pulled out the pistol.

Popping out the magazine with a click, her heavy heart grew heavier at the sight of a singular bullet left.

She had already known they were down to three before she whiffed on the first two, so it only made sense that she had one left, but the logic didn't override the nerves.

She had to make the shot count. She had to take it only if necessary and not let her fear skew her aim.

As she clicked the magazine back into place, the sound of heavy footsteps caused her to freeze, a shiver rolling down her spine, her head feeling like it was splashed with ice water despite the desert climate.

Grace internally prayed that it was one of the Pogues. Hell, she'd take a sheep over one of the Corsairs any day.

Taking a deep breath, she carefully rose to her knees to peer out the window that was just above where she had been sitting.

At the sight, she quickly threw herself back down, ducking behind cover.

Her prayers were evidently not answered for she was still lost and alone, and now a man armed with a rifle was pacing just outside of the house she'd hidden in.

She glanced down at the gun she had shoved into her waistband.

"Make it count," she muttered under her breath.

God, she really didn't want to kill someone.

Trying to find any way out of becoming a murderer, Grace carefully peered outside once more.

Maybe she was in the bargaining stage of grief, or maybe she was going insane, but a plan formed in her head nonetheless.

The man wasn't quite as burly as his compadres. Sure, he was still armed with a rifle, and he certainly wasn't scrawny, but for some reason, she felt confident that the bullet resting in her chamber would be... overkill?