The Gender Plan (The Gender Game #6)(20)

Then Violet coughed, her eyes snapping open wide as she tugged at something bulky under her shirt. Frowning, I lifted up the edges, and saw the bulletproof vest resting on her skin—and the two bullets lodged in it. I carefully eased my hands up under her shirt to her shoulders, releasing the nylon tabs that held the top of the vest in place, and then the ones at her sides. Violet gasped again, giving me an appreciative nod as I carefully pulled the vest off.

I knew exactly how she felt: getting hit with a gun from such a close range was the equivalent of getting kicked in the chest by a horse. But she was alive. God, she was alive.

“Desmond?” she asked, her breathing ragged. She held out a hand to me, and I gently hoisted her up into a sitting position.

“Ms. Dale?” I called over my shoulder. “How’s Desmond?”

Ms. Dale’s voice carried over the sound of the crackling fire. “Still alive, but unconscious—I think. Should I get back in the car and hit her again?”

Violet gave me a concerned look and then carefully pulled herself to her feet. Her knees and legs were shaky, so I climbed to my feet with her and wrapped my arm around her shoulder. She held me around my waist, and together, we picked our way across the yard toward our car. Ms. Dale was standing on the other side, a healthy distance from Desmond, her gun still trained on the other woman.

Desmond lay curled sideways in the grass, her body looking like it was trying to go two ways at once—her front curled up, her legs splayed out. Her left leg was bloodied and lay at a not-quite-natural angle. Her eyes were definitely closed, but whether she was faking unconsciousness or not, I wasn’t sure.

“I found her gun and patted her down,” said Ms. Dale from where she was standing. “But honestly, it would just be safer for all of us if we put a bullet in her.”

I looked down at the scene before me, feeling my blood curdling. This woman had just shot Violet without a second thought, and even looking at her was making the anger pump through my veins. But I hadn’t been trained to give in to the rage that boiled in my blood. I had learned as a warden to evaluate the situation fully.

“We… shouldn’t,” I said.

“Viggo.” Ms. Dale’s voice was sharp, and she didn’t lower her gun from where it pointed at Desmond. “Don’t do this mercy thing. Now’s the best chance we’re ever going to get to take her out once and for all. She’s dangerous. Too dangerous.”

“It’s not that. She has information,” I insisted. “We can get her in a position where we’ll make her talk. Take her in now, while she’s unarmed and unconscious.”

“Can we not have this argument? If we let her wake up, then she’ll be back to being armed again,” retorted Ms. Dale. I opened my mouth to interject, and Ms. Dale shook her head, her entire stance adamant. “I don’t care what you say, Viggo, there’s no reason strong enough to convince me to let this snake of a woman live. She’s toxic, and she has a way of worming her way in. Even her mouth is a weapon. You both know it.”

I looked down at Violet, who was wearing a faraway look, her silver eyes staring at Desmond. “Violet?”

The haunted shadows fled across her face as she jerked back and looked at me. “Tim’s here,” she said blankly. “Over by the driveway from the basement. Owen, too.”

I’d thought she was paying attention to the discussion, but now I realized her voice was hollow and flat, and I cupped her cheeks between my hands, peering into her eyes, my excitement at the thought of seeing her brother alive—and my current rage at Desmond—eclipsed by worry.

“Violet?” I asked, concern softening my voice.

Eyelids fluttering, she gazed back up at me, and then seemed to do a double take. “Viggo?”

“Are you all right?”

“Of course,” she murmured after a moment. “I’m just… I’m really tired. Desmond is too dangerous.”

“She’s the key to everything,” I said. “We can use her.”

A hard edge appeared in Violet’s eyes then, even in her distracted state, and she shook her head. “We don’t need her,” she said fiercely. “Let’s just... get it over with. She’s too dangerous.”

“Good,” said Ms. Dale. “My pleasure.” Her face held no sign of guilt or humor, devoid of anything that could allow me to question her sincerity.

I sucked in a slow breath, then nodded stiffly. She cocked her gun, the cold click of the metal seeming loud in the night.

But before Ms. Dale fired, another voice spoke up.

“I wouldn’t do that… if I were you.”

Her voice was weary and tight with pain, but it still managed to convey that sense of silky, easy superiority that instantly put my nerves on edge. I cursed under my breath. Desmond was conscious again. How long had she been listening? We would never know the answer to that one.

Ms. Dale hesitated, keeping her gun pointed, and she gritted her teeth as though controlling her trigger finger. “You have ten seconds to convince me not to blow your brains out.”

“So angry, Melissa,” Desmond murmured. I saw now that her eyes were open and glittering in the light from the mansion fire. “I always knew that would bring you down in the end.”

“Nine,” Ms. Dale said without missing a beat.