The Gender War (The Gender Game #4) by Bella Forrest (read novel full TXT) 📗

an incredibly improbable angle, and the bandage around the same hand was filthy. Her left hand was coated in blood as well, though it looked like only from a slight cut.

My fingers found their way to her throat, pressing against the blistered flesh there. I tried to calm my breathing enough to feel a pulse beyond the pounding in my own veins, but there was nothing under my fingertips. Not even a weak bump for me to interpret. I moved my fingers and tried again, but Violet remained eerily still, her body unmoving.

No. I moved my hand over her chest, over her heart, and waited for something, anything, that would tell me she was still alive. Warm skin over empty stillness—nothing was beating in her chest. My eyes burned as I stared at her, unable to process the lack of a heartbeat. Despite the grime and blood on her face, she looked as though she could be sleeping, her face perfectly relaxed and still.

When it hit me, I screamed, my fury bellowing out across the landing. “Violet!” I shouted, shaking her limp form, unwilling to accept the truth. Her head lolled back and forth with a sickening resemblance to a rag doll, and I felt tears burning behind my eyes as I held her still form.

Not again, not again, not again, I thought as I clutched her to me, rocking her back and forth. The old, deep guilt got ahold of me, one that twisted in my gut as Miriam’s face flashed in my mind. I crushed Violet’s limp form to my chest, my head bowed, breathing in tight spasms, as if I could somehow pass my life force on to her. If I could, I would. I would do anything to stop this feeling, this aching hollowness growing larger again, swallowing Violet into the void that said my life had always been destined for this… that there was nothing, nothing I could do to save them. To save her.

In my mind, I knew I had to accept this. Accept this, and move on. But my heart railed against this fact, violently.

I listened to it. Years ago, I hadn’t, but this time… I had to. It wasn’t an impulse. It was an obsession. It didn’t matter what logic told me—I couldn’t give up on her.

My eyes snapped open, and I gently laid Violet down again. I tipped her head back, squeezing two fingers against her throat to clear her airway. Pressing my hands together over her chest, I began pushing against it, the life-saving training I’d had as a warden filling my head. The rhythm was natural—a series of quick compressions, and then I reached down, pinching her nose and blowing air from my lungs into hers.

“You have to live, baby,” I growled to her under my breath as I pumped and then blew again. “I can’t go on without you.” Blow. “I won’t.” Another breath. “I can’t.” Breathe.

And so I went on, begging her to come back to me, hoping to find her still somehow clinging to life. I reasoned with her, reminding her that we still had so much to do together. When that didn’t work, I shouted, hoping my anger would spark something in her.

I was frantic, desperate, on the verge of truly giving up—when Violet made a tiny cough, sucked in a deep breath of air, and then started coughing in earnest. Hope bolted through me like electricity. I helped her roll to her side, gently rubbing her back as she choked down lungful after lungful of air—as she continued to breathe, continued to live.

She hacked a few more times and then turned over on her back, her eyelids fluttering. Her eyes focused on me for a moment, and I saw that one of her pupils was blown, while blood surrounded the gray cornea of the other. She looked at me blankly for a second, and I realized she must be having problems focusing.

“Viggo?” she asked, her voice husky and barely audible, more of a croak.

I resisted the urge to stroke her face, her neck, her body—I wasn’t sure how extensive her injuries were—but it was hard. I wanted so badly to feel her living body against mine. As gently as I could, I reached out and took her left hand, squeezing slightly on two fingers that weren’t injured. “Yes. It’s me.”

She smiled then, her gaze dazed and unfocused, and I felt her grimy hands weakly trying to grip my fingers. “Knew you’d come,” she wheezed.

“You invited me,” I replied.

“I didn’t…” she whispered, her smile fading. “That… Tabitha… She—”

“Don’t know, don’t care—we gotta get you out of here.” I carefully slipped my arms under her, taking care not to jostle her too much. But I winced when she took in a deep, painful breath, her pale skin growing whiter, almost ashen. “I’m sorry,” I whispered as I gathered her up as gently as I could.

“S’okay,” she replied. Her eyes drifted closed for a moment, and I took the opportunity to stand up. I had started walking, picking my way cautiously down the stairs, when her eyes snapped back open and she shifted slightly in my arms. “Wait,” she breathed. “Can’t forget.”

“Forget what, Violet? We have to get out of here.” I kept my voice gentle, but I didn’t want to wait—I only wanted her safe.

“Button,” she whispered, her eyelids fluttering again. She licked her lips and swallowed. Her hand shifted feebly on her stomach, and I looked at where it was working toward one of the buttons. My frown intensified as I examined it, not understanding. Her gaze focused, and her look was fierce. “Camera. Plan.” Her enunciation was clear and concise, and I could see the intense amount of energy she must be expending to get it out.

I didn’t have time to think about what she was saying now. I just nodded at her, and she went slack again, some of the tension leaving her. We kept on down the stairs. Everything could be all