The Gender War (The Gender Game #4)(57)

I sat up, swinging my legs over the side of the bed, and ran my hand over my face. I felt filthy. I hadn’t showered since we left the Liberators’ facility, and that felt like over a week ago. For all I knew, it had been.

Standing up, I walked to the bathroom, stripping off my clothes as I went. Inside the bathroom, I made a beeline to the shower. It was damp and slick—evidence that Viggo had already used it—so I trod carefully as I cranked up the dial.

The blast of cold water hit me in the face, making me gasp, but within seconds the water warmed. I stood under it for several minutes, watching blood and dirt swirling around the drain. The white bandage still around my hand, slowly soaking up water, caught my attention, and, after taking a deep breath, I gingerly pulled it off. Now that I wasn’t exhausted, I wanted to see it.

Even so, I felt disgusted. The wound was puckered and swollen around the stitches Quinn had put in, the skin bruised and discolored, and my fingers still felt like sausages—but they all twitched when I moved them. My hand was definitely not split in half. Holding it under the water, I rinsed it off, wincing as the water struck. But the pain was light and bearable. It’s going to be okay. Quinn had done an admirable job.

My heart dropped when I realized that he and Amber were probably going to leave today. I didn’t want them to go, but it was clear that they didn’t want any part of what we were doing. At least, Amber didn’t. I wasn’t so sure about Quinn, but seeing as he was practically inseparable from her, I couldn’t see him changing his mind and staying.

I exhaled, pushing the imminent parting out of my mind. There was a lot going on today, and I needed to focus on that. I washed up as quickly as I could and ended my shower, then padded to the closet, curious about whether there were any spare clothes inside.

In fact, a folded pile of fresh clothes was tucked inside, perched on top of my bag and topped by a folded piece of paper. Picking up the slip of paper, I recognized Viggo’s block-style handwriting.

Violet, we let you sleep in. You needed it, so don’t be mad. Found some clean clothes in your size—thought you might want them. Here’s your bag—Tim brought it out of the truck, and he wanted it back with you for safekeeping.

-V

P.S. The staff said they will change the sheets today. Apparently, they found the fact that we went to bed filthy ‘disturbing’.

I smiled as I read his last sentence, carefully folding the note back up. Reaching out, I stroked my fingers over the weathered bag, feeling the hard cases inside. These bizarre, giant silver eggs were what had gotten me into this entire mess. Without them… Well, without them, I probably would have been executed for murder in the Matrian prison system. If I’d never been introduced to the eggs, would Desmond and Elena’s plans have changed at all?

Without these, I realized, I never would have met Viggo. The man I was going to marry, if we got out of this alive.

Just thinking about his proposal made my heart rate speed up. Amidst all the chaos, all our alone time had been spent escaping something, dealing with one another’s injuries, or feeling deliriously tired. Well, and there was that one time in the shed, but then I hadn’t wanted to remove my lips from Viggo’s long enough to speak…

When I next felt that the moment was right, I would tell him my answer. That he shouldn’t have even really needed to ask. That I was his forever… or until death did us part.

Energized, I got dressed quickly, re-bandaged my wound with the supplies Quinn had insisted I take, and went downstairs, heading for the security room. I had to stay focused.

As I walked through the dining room, I was surprised to see Ashabee and Maxen there, marking places on maps with little red circles and, when I listened in, arguing about which areas should be raided first. I nodded at them as I walked past, not inclined to speak to them when they were so diligently at work. I didn’t feel like another game of ‘threaten the king’ right now anyway. They didn’t even notice as I went by, which was fine by me.

Entering the security room, I was surprised to see Thomas sitting behind the desk looking at the computer, Quinn and Amber standing right behind him, peering over his shoulder.

“Good morning,” I greeted, and they looked at me in surprise.

“Morning, Violet!” Quinn chirped. “How’s your hand?”

I responded by holding it up, and within moments, Quinn was carefully removing the bandage I’d just put on and peppering me with questions. I answered them honestly, showing him how each of my fingers moved one by one. He told me that there wasn’t any sign of infection, and seemed optimistic that, with time, mobility would fully return.

“Thank you, Quinn,” I said once he had finished.

“You’re welcome.” He grinned.

I turned to where Amber and Thomas were, to see them fixated on the computer again. “What is it?” I asked, moving closer to the desk.

Amber looked at me out of the corner of her eye and straightened up. “Tom-Tom is helping Quinn and me find a route out of here,” she replied coolly, but I saw a sparkle of challenge in her gaze when it collided with my own.

I sighed. I’d been hoping to have this conversation somewhere more private, just between the two of us, but now was probably as good a time as any.

“There’s no way I’m going to convince you to change your mind, is there?” I asked, trying to keep my voice gentle. “Owen told me you want to go back to the Liberators, but I’m worried about Desmond… and about the boys. We really need your help in this war, Amber. You and Quinn have so many skills. Think about it—we could stop the war. We could keep Desmond from using young men…”