The Gender Fall (The Gender Game #5)(4)

I grinned at him in reply, and after a long, hard look at me, he relaxed slightly. I wasn’t sure when this teasing had worked its way into our exchanges. Truth be told, I had been ready to hate Owen since day one. After hearing Violet talk about him… excessively.

But after she had convinced me there was nothing between them, and after all the things Owen had done for us, the man had earned my grudging respect. I had even started considering him a friend, which was rare for me. I tended to be a loner, even before all this insanity had started. Apart from Alejandro and his wife Jenny… No, I preferred to keep my list of loved ones small.

Owen had earned my friendship, however. He had been firm, fair, and honest, and had a depth of integrity I rarely saw in people. He may not have always done the right thing, but when he made a mistake, he took responsibility for it. The man had refused to abandon me and Violet in our hour of need—it had never even been a possibility to him. I was glad to have him with us.

“Y’know,” Owen drawled, and I looked up to meet his gaze. “Getting into a fight in this position might only make things worse.” He looked pointedly at our guns.

I understood what he was saying. I even agreed with it to a certain extent. Better to not have to start shooting, because that would only get us killed. Better to give in at first, then try to escape later. But then I looked back at Violet, at the damage to her face and body, and felt myself hardening as reason escaped me.

“They’re going to have to kill me before they can lay a finger on her,” I replied, my voice as sharp as steel.

Owen’s eyes widened in alarm, and I looked down and realized my hands were shaking with barely repressed rage. All the humor from earlier had evaporated under the force of my fury. I forced myself to take a deep breath. And another. And a third. It was enough, for the moment, to quell the seething anger that had built up in my stomach and chest, tense and raw.

“Sorry,” I grated out after a moment. “I’m just…”

“I get it,” he whispered back, his face softening. “We’ll get through this.”

I glanced back at Violet and was surprised to see the twin silver slits of her eyes were open, glistening with awareness, catching a sliver of light that came in from the stairs. She feebly tried to push herself up into a better sitting position, and the cast on her right hand scraped loudly on the floor, making me wince. She didn’t seem to notice, her breath coming in shudders and gasps as she struggled to move.

I squatted down, smoothing a hand over her hair. “Violet,” I whispered softly. “You have a fractured skull. You need to stay down.”

She ignored me, her left arm shaking with strain as she tried to shift her position on the floor but failed weakly. I sighed and reached out, taking her under the arms and moving her slightly, until she was braced in the corner. She grew paler, and I saw clearly that she was resisting the urge to vomit.

Her eyes glazed over, becoming unfocused and sliding left and right around the room. Then they fluttered closed, and a slight wheeze escaped her lungs. I hovered nearby, concerned she might still vomit in spite of her heroic attempt to hold it back, but she continued to fight it off. After a moment, her eyes snapped back open, awareness returning in them.

Her gaze drifted down to the gun I clutched in my hand, and then up to me. She swallowed, her mouth working as if she were trying to speak. I waited, and Violet sighed in apparent frustration. She glanced back to the gun, then up at me again, and this time I noticed the fingers of her left hand twitching as she looked at me, the expression on her face imploring underneath the marring of her injuries, visible even in the dimness.

I hesitated, questioning the wisdom of giving her a gun. She had a severe concussion, and she was slipping in and out of consciousness. Half in and half out of reality, in terrible pain… The last thing she needed was a weapon in her hand.

I decided to let her touch one just briefly, hoping it would provide her with a thread of comfort. I reached down to the waistband of my pants, freeing my second pistol. I set it on the ground next to her before gently lifting her left hand, taking great care to avoid the bandaged cuts on her fingers, and resting it on the butt of the gun. The relief in her eyes was palpable as she gave me a fraction of a nod.

Then her eyes closed. I waited for them to open again, but her world had gone dark once more. Probably better this way.

I replaced the second gun in my waistband, then straightened and turned toward Owen, who placed a finger over his lips. I held my breath, listening closely.

I couldn’t hear much through the boards, but after a moment, my ears caught the distinct whine of brakes being applied and the sound of a car engine shutting off, followed by doors slamming closed. My hand tightened on my gun.

We listened in silence as several reedy, thin voices carried through the walls. The owners of the vehicle were definitely female. Which meant they were definitely Matrian. Patrian women weren’t trained to drive.

Then the distinct sounds of heavy boots filed into the room on the other side of the wall, and I had second thoughts about taking the gun from Violet. The thought of her having to face the Matrians defenseless sent a current of fear through me, and I looked down to notice my hands shaking again.

Then the fiery rage was back, burning like a molten core in my gut. I resisted the urge to growl. Violet wouldn’t have to use any gun. If I had anything to say about it, they wouldn’t even get a good look at her. I’d be damned if anyone laid a hand on her.