Sophia told Bartholomew, "Alright, a couple of last words then."
Bartholomew narrowed his eyes, she was up to something he couldn't quite determine.
"Fine," he harrumphed.
He reasoned to himself, she was about to die, the least he could do was give her the chance to utter her last words.
"The bullet that nearly pierced my skin's the closest thing you'll ever get to penetrating me, you plonker," she insulted.
"Oh and also, that crown you wear eighty percent of the damn time, it's overkill," Sophia scoffed.
Bartholomew laughed maniacally, "So you have chosen death, my ladyship!"
Sophia didn't answer, the pain she'd felt had intensified. She winced.
Bartholomew was seconds away from pulling the trigger before he was punched in the face and knocked out cold, his head hitting the pavement.
Nicholas mumbled something incomprehensible under his breath before he turned to Sophia.
