The Gender Plan (The Gender Game #6)

“Go inside and do a last check with Violet and Ms. Dale—see if there is any more leftover equipment for us to share or any final jobs we might be needed for before we go.”


Jay gave a little salute, and then bounded off, hot on Violet’s trail. I smiled as I watched him go, wondering how I was ever going to give him the talk, and then turned toward the barn. Owen was busy there, carefully packing rifles into a bag, oblivious that I was only a minute’s walk away.

I took a deep breath, trying to clear my mind from the anger that was beginning to build in me just watching him, and then walked toward him. At first, he didn’t notice me. He was so absorbed with his task of breaking down the gun and making sure the chamber was clear, magazine out. When he did notice me, he froze, and then slowly sat the gun down, standing up from the bench he had been perched on. I stopped just on the other side of the table, keeping a healthy distance between us.

Owen met my gaze, his face and eyes revealing nothing as to how he was feeling. I just stared at him, still not entirely sure how to say what I had to say. After a moment, he ran his hand through his hair and reached down to fiddle with the gun he had been breaking down. “Just say it,” he said, after a moment.

“We made a decision,” I announced.

Owen’s head snapped up, his eyes searching my face for any sign of his fate. Then he sighed and nodded. “I’ll go get my things. I’ll be out of the camp before the move is fully finished. Don’t worry—I have no idea where you all are going, but even if I did, I wouldn’t follow you.”

I shook my head and held up my hands, the urge to correct him compelling me forward a step, my knees brushing up against the bench. “We’re not exiling you, Owen.”

Owen froze in the middle of his step away from me, a resigned expression coming over his face. “Yeah,” he said bitterly. “I figured I’d never get off that easy. So I guess Amber’s suggestion of execution was the popular vote, huh?”

I blinked, his statement hitting me like a stiff jab in the face. “Um, Amber never advocated execution. No one did.”

Owen’s confusion deepened, and I felt pity for him, and irritation at myself. This was an important moment to Owen, and I was fumbling through it like an idiot, dragging out his torture.

“Oh. I guess maybe that was Amber’s way of…” He trailed off and sighed, crossing his arms against his chest. “I’m talking too much.”

“I was just about to say,” I agreed, before I could stop myself. Owen met my gaze, his eyes steely in spite of the vulnerability that hid there, and I cleared my throat. “Look, the punishment we decided for your actions is probably one of the most difficult and dangerous jobs we have at the camp. It comes with a high probability of violence, and a strong chance that you will be injured, maimed, and/or killed in the line of duty… I want you to be Violet’s bodyguard.”

Owen’s eyes bugged, and he blinked, as if disbelieving that I was actually there. “You have got to be joking,” he said—practically shouted. “Why in the world would you ever trust me with her life after what I did to her? How did they even get you to agree—”

“It was my idea,” I shouted back, shutting him up. “It was. Because… in spite of everything, I know you truly care about Violet, and now that the guilt of what you did to her is chewing you up, I know you will lay down your life to protect her.”

The look of intense thought on Owen’s face had deepened, as if he were weighing each word carefully, searching for some hint that I was wrong in my estimation of him. I knew he was looking for a reason to get out of this—not because he didn’t want to do it, but because he didn’t believe he should. That was how I knew it would be the perfect punishment for him. It would force him to deal with his guilt and shame, every day, until he got over it. Or until the job actually killed him. It was a possibility we couldn’t ignore.

“How does Violet feel about it?” he asked after a moment, and I knew he had failed to find something to disapprove of in what I was saying. He was fishing for any excuse.

“Honestly, she’s fine with it. I think… I think she’s ready to forgive you. She might have already done so.”

“And you?” Owen’s question was loaded, and I could hear the conflicting emotions there, threatening to strangle out his voice.

This was my precipice, one I couldn’t begin to describe. “I honestly don’t know. On the one hand, I feel like I shouldn’t hold you to your actions. I know you said not to factor in… what happened to you… but it’s impossible for me not to. On the other hand…” I met his gaze, letting some of the anger creep through. “I really want to punch your lights out.”

Owen nodded, biting his lower lip. “I don’t really blame you,” he announced. “I deserve it.”

We both fell silent, uncertain how to follow up. There really was no follow-up to be had. I was just hanging back, out of habit, waiting for him to say goodbye, make a joke, say something pithy. I had almost forgotten that things were different now.

“I gotta go.”

Owen’s eyes flicked up to mine at my declaration. “Right. I’ll… uh… get my stuff ready to join you guys in the farmhouse. And, it goes without saying—but I will keep her safe, Viggo.” He held out his hand, stretching his arm across the table. I looked down at it for a moment, indecision raging. Then I accepted his handshake, shaking twice before dropping his hand.

With that, I turned and walked away, heading back to the car where Jay, and now Cad, were waiting for me.

I didn’t look back.





16





Violet





“Gregory—I found them. The box shifted behind some of these old crates.”

I had to resist the urge to swipe my hand across my face as I spoke. Phantom spider webs were abundant, especially against my still exposed scalp, but with the amount of dirt and grime on my hands, I had made my decision not to try to brush them away, and I was sticking to it.

“I’ve got it, Violet,” said Gregory, the lanky Patrian man who was in charge of the guards, and I stepped back, allowing him to grab the box that had been lost for the last half an hour. Looking around the barn, I nodded to myself as I took in the vast emptiness of it, save a pile of odds and ends that needed a final inventory and decision on which house to be sent to.

“Violet! This car is ready to go to C house. Do you want to check the manifest or—”

“I trust you, Lynne,” I told the brunette woman standing at the entrance to the barn. She smiled and waved in acknowledgment, then disappeared back out the door, presumably to finalize the instructions.