Kit gave a half-laugh. “You’ve…changed.
They burst out laughing—another surprise. Women rarely laughed in the PZ compound, especially loudly enough to be heard.
Everyone gathered around to hug her. Whispers and murmurs filled the air. “We were so worried.” “You were hurt so badly.” “I can never thank you enough.”
Eventually, Mary clapped her hands together. “Sit, y’all. Let the girl breathe.”
Smiling, they backed away, merging into one big blur through Kit’s tear-filled eyes. She blinked hard. “Look at you all.”
They were no longer gaunt. No one had bruises or cuts or black eyes. No one limped as they took seats on the couches, chairs, and the rug.
In the corner, the teens watching the younger children waved at Kit.
She waved back, and her heart felt…happy. After being reluctant to see the women again, now she was glad she had come.
A chair had been left empty for her, and she sat, putting the tote at her feet.
“Okay, I just need to put this out here.” Miriam leaned forward, hands clasped together. “Kit, thank you. On that night, you were only half-conscious, and still, you cared enough to order us to get off our butts. To escape with your rescuers. I was frigging scared, but you got me moving. Thank you.”
A chorus of agreement filled the air.
Kit felt a knot inside her ease. She’d felt incredibly guilty that people had risked their lives to rescue her. But if they hadn’t, these women would still be imprisoned and abused in the PZ compound.
“You look better than I thought you would.” Mary had always been the unofficial leader of the women. “Did you just get out of the hospital?”
“It’s been about two weeks. I’m staying with my friend, Frankie. She arranged our rescue.”
“But what about therapy?” Serena said hesitantly, “We get counseling here, one-on-one and group sessions and all that. It’s…I…” She glanced at the others and caught their encouraging smiles. “We needed it. You might too.”
“Oh, I did. I do.” Kit half-laughed. “Even before I was released, they were wheeling me to counseling sessions. And now I see a counselor at the local health clinic.”
“Not group?” someone asked.
Kit shook her head. One-on-one was good. Group, well, she wasn’t so keen. She’d managed to avoid it so far.
“I’m glad you’re seeing a counselor,” Miriam said. “The group therapy, though. It helps in a different way.”
Daisy nodded. “The sessions are hard, but somehow, it helps hearing others went through abuse too. Learning how they handle problems, and what worked and didn’t work and—”
“And not feeling like I’m the only idiot or coward in the world,” Ellie added. “Try it, Kit.”
The rest nodded.
Ugh. Groups really weren’t her thing. But everyone was looking at her, willing her to agree. “I’ll give it a try,” she said reluctantly.
Once. She’d go once.
“Anyway, on a brighter note,” she said. “I came today since I heard everyone is leaving for different places.”
Kit relaxed back into the soft chair as they chimed in. Sharing their plans. Telling of legal affairs—divorces and custody and restraining orders. Some planned to stay with family. Others were getting help in finding jobs or obtaining schooling. Daycare and low-income housing had been arranged.
No one was returning to Texas, even if they had family there. The PZs were savage with anyone who escaped.
“It’s going to be rough,” tiny, slender Ellie whispered, “Starting from scratch. It makes me so mad that I listened to Bryson. That I gave up everything for him.”
Kit pulled in a breath. She wouldn’t have a better lead-in than this. And really, she needed to get things moving. Her friends and Aric would be here soon to pick her up.
Rising, she glanced around, checking that it was only the women and their children in the room. No shelter workers.
From their months of oppression, the others recognized what she was doing. They fell silent.
Letting the children’s play drown out her lowered voice, Kit opened her tote. “If you didn’t know, Obadiah handled the PZ bookkeeping—and their when-the-shit-hits-the-fan funds.”
“Like disaster funds?” Daisy asked.
“Remember how they kept months of stored food in the locked building in case of war or disasters?”
Mary snorted. “It was one of the few things I actually thought made sense.”
A few others nodded.
Layla’s lip turned up in a snarl. “I would’ve approved except their so-called storage meant me and my daughter didn’t get enough to eat.”
That got a general murmur of agreement.
“It’d make sense that the bastards would keep money for disasters too. Heaven knows they had enough funds coming in through the website.” Miriam’s man had handled the website and donations. “It’s a shame we’ll never see any of that money.”
Layla rolled her eyes. “The good reverend has probably spent it on lawyer fees by now. Or Captain Nabera will have used it to buy more weapons. He’s still running around somewhere, remember?”
Every woman visibly shrank at the thought.
Kit did too. The Prophet was bad enough—a fanatic who felt that only he knew the truth, and everyone was there to serve him. Nabera was not only devoted to Parrish but was also…warped. He loved hurting women. Would boast about killing “the bitches.” He was terrifying.
She swallowed, trying to shake off the nauseating memories of the night he’d “cleansed” her—of the stink of his breath, the revulsion of his touch.
A shriek of glee broke into Kit’s memories, and she straightened.
In the corner, a little girl did a happy dance of victory at winning the children’s game. The child had overcome the habit of silence.
Kit’s hopes lifted. If the girl could do it, so could Aric.
“You wanted to tell us something?” Mary prompted.
“Oh, right.” Kit turned back to the woman. “The Zealots had their big bank account, but like with the food storage, they also stockpiled cash. In a cave.”
Eyes widened.
Miriam whispered, “I don’t suppose…”
“Yes. I retrieved the money from the cave.” Kit hauled in a breath. “I divided it up evenly between those of us here. Anyone who didn’t leave with us will have PZ support, so the money I have here is just for us. We shouldn’t tell anyone about it.”
“Or someone will take it.” Mary nodded her understanding. “Kit makes sense—and she took a risk in fetchin’ the money. So, no talking about where this money came from, agreed?”
To Kit’s relief, everyone nodded. PZ women knew how to keep secrets.
One-by-one, she handed over the flat packets of money, quietly so the children wouldn’t notice.
The money disappeared into the women’s clothing.
“Those were hundred-dollar bills,” Ellie whispered, her eyes still wide. “How much?”
“We each got a little over ten thousand.” Kit sat back in her chair, her tote bag now empty. “It’s enough for a start.”