The Gender Game 2 by Bella Forrest (positive books to read txt) 📗

38

Violet

I wasn’t sure how much time had passed before I broke through the shock that had settled over me. It couldn’t have been long—none of us had moved since Ms. Dale had shot Marina—but it was still too long, considering.

I launched myself over to Viggo, cursing myself for not getting back to him sooner.

Blood was pooled around him, and he was pale—paler than I’d ever seen him. I dropped to my knees, blood soaking through my pants. My hands were shaking as I reached for the hole in his chest. Less blood was trickling from it than before, and I didn’t see Viggo’s chest moving.

Shuddering, I reached to his throat to see if I could feel a pulse. I pressed against the vein and waited to feel anything—a reassuring bump under my fingertips that told me there was still a chance—but there was nothing.

I was breathing in sharp gasps, hyperventilating as I checked his wrist for a pulse.

“No,” I whispered. I grabbed his shoulders and shook him. His head lolled side to side, but he didn’t move.

“No,” I said more insistently, shaking him harder.

“No!” I screamed, slapping him across the face hard.

I covered my mouth with my hands, trying to contain the scream that was building in my chest, wrapping around my heart like a heavy chain, tearing it apart.

I heard Tim moving up behind me. I felt his hand press down on my shoulder.

Looking up at him, I removed my hand from my mouth. “He’s dead,” I whispered, not trusting myself to speak a decibel louder for fear of releasing that horrible scream.

Tim’s grey eyes flitted over Viggo’s body. Licking his lips, he knelt down next to me, and placed his hand on Viggo’s chest. I watched as he cocked his head, seemingly listening to something.

His eyes met mine, and he grabbed my hand, replacing his hand with my own.

“Tim,” I protested, not wanting to feel the emptiness where Viggo’s heart once beat strong and true.

Pressing one hand over my mouth, he placed another hand over mine. I looked at him, a mixture of confusion and anger rolling through me. Then I felt it. A small little thump under the palm of my hand.

Eyes wide, I looked up at Tim. He reached up and pointed to himself, and then pointed upstairs. I stared at him blankly.

“I don’t understand,” I whispered.

“He wants to go upstairs to get medical supplies,” Ms. Dale said in a tired voice behind me.

Whipping my head around, I looked at her. She was still leaning heavily on the counter, her face weary. I opened my mouth, prepared to tear her apart for even daring to speak to me after everything, when her words hit me.

Medical supplies.

I was an idiot. I should’ve been halfway upstairs by now, and instead here I was, wasting time mourning someone who wasn’t dead yet.

I suddenly felt alive with purpose. Rising to my feet, I started barking orders.

“Tim, you press down on that wound. If you can, there’s an exit wound on his back—get something on it to help slow down the bleeding. He doesn’t have much blood left. Ms. Dale, see if there are any of those blood patch things in the first aid kit, and then apply as many as you can.”

“Violet…” Ms. Dale started to say, her voice filled with doubt.

“Don’t,” I said, cutting her off. “You will do this, right now, or I will kill you myself.”

Her brown eyes examined me closely for a second, and then she nodded. “All right.”

I watched as she moved into the office, grabbing the first aid kit from the desk. While she was gone, I knelt next to Tim.

“Tim, where’s the bag?” I whispered. He was already following my orders, his hands stained red with Viggo’s blood. He looked up at me, and then his eyes flicked back toward the opposite side of the room and then back to me. “All right. Don’t show Ms. Dale, okay?”

His head bobbed up and down. I straightened up just as Ms. Dale came out of the office. I crossed over to the counter while she knelt next to Viggo. Picking up the gun she had discarded, I turned.

“Ms. Dale—you know more about first aid than I do. What do I need from upstairs?”

Ms. Dale was applying a patch to Viggo’s neck. She paused and looked at me, her brown eyes studying me. “A lot,” she replied blithely.

I grit my teeth—this was already taking too long. “Be more specific,” I said in an icy tone that promised pain.

She sighed and rested back on her heels. “Violet, he is close to death. I’m not sure there is anything in that room that can save him.”

A huff of air escaped my lungs as I eyed her. “Melissa,” I said, using her first name. “Give me a list, and get out of my way or I will kill you. You are wasting my time.”

“He’s a Patrian,” she hissed, straightening. “You can’t ask me to help the enemy.”

I let out a sharp bitter laugh and she stepped back in surprise, her brown eyes wide. “You are so full of it, Melissa,” I hissed. “You just killed an heir to the throne of Matrus.” I let out a laugh as her gaze drifted toward Marina. “You’re one of us now, whether you like it or not. Matrus won’t take you back, and you’d die in Patrus. So either get on my team, or get the hell out.”

Ms. Dale stared at me for a long moment, her face an impassive mask. “He means that much to you?” she asked.

I met her gaze without flinching. “Yes.”

“Why?” she demanded, holding her ground.

I thought about it for a second, a thousand reasons racing through my mind at once. “Because he’s ahead in the whole saving lives department, and I can’t let him die while I’m still in his debt.”

It was a glib reply, and didn’t even begin to touch what I was feeling. I owed Viggo so much more than