“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.