The Gender Plan (The Gender Game #6)

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.

“The boys,” Desmond said quickly. “You wouldn’t want anything to happen to the boys.”

“Killing you is the best thing I could do for the boys,” Ms. Dale replied, but now there was the barest bit of hesitance in her voice, and Desmond, lying helpless and weaponless on the grass, knew it.

“Seven days,” Desmond said dreamily, ignoring the jab.

I sensed what she was doing—lying to save her skin—but now I had to know what she was talking about, too.

“Seven days ‘til what?” I growled.

“Viggo, dear, don’t try to play the bad cop. Even Melissa here can do it better than you, and she’s a sorry excuse for a—”

Desmond’s laconic drawl cut off sharply as Ms. Dale fired her gun, the explosion deafening. I was shocked for a moment—until I saw there was no blood or bullet hole. Desmond had simply flinched, jerking her head to the side as though she’d been stung. The shot had hit the ground close to her face. Expert control on Ms. Dale’s part.

“I am this close to killing you,” Ms. Dale spat. “Answer the question.”

Desmond’s voice was just a little higher when she replied, “If I’m gone longer than seven days, my people will order all of the boys under ten into the river and let them drown. The boys younger than fourteen on the next day, and so on and so forth. Elena and I discussed it, in the eventuality that you people got a hold of me like you did King Maxen. The older boys are much easier to work with, so she may keep them alive, at least for a while longer…”

“You’re lying,” Ms. Dale snarled, not losing her focus on Desmond as Violet and I stared. My stomach twisted into knots. She’d sprung her trap, and now we were flailing in it.

Desmond’s lips twitched up. “Shoot me and find out,” she crooned.

“Fine,” Ms. Dale said, and before I could voice the shock of alarm that coursed through me, she’d spun her gun around in her hand, stepped forward, and knocked Desmond on the head with the butt of it. The older woman’s neck snapped backward, and she slumped.

“We’ve heard enough out of you,” Ms. Dale snapped, then pulled back, huffing, and looked at me and Violet.

“I know what you’re going to say,” she said, bitterness oozing from her words.

“We can’t take the risk?”

“Yes. And, as much as I hate to say this, I agree. Until we can find some way to verify that all the boys are safe from the Matrians… even the possibility of this being true…” Ms. Dale’s voice became sharper. “She’s got our hands tied. Viggo, you get your wish. We have to take her with us.”