Mr. Kaplan’s replies were soft, too soft for me to make out from my position beside Owen. I looked down at Violet and felt my heart clench.
She looked terrible. Her face was ashen, the violent red-and-purple bruising that covered one half of it standing out in stark contrast. Her eye was swollen and black on that side, her lip split. White bandages enveloped her neck and chest, covering the first- and second-degree burns she had received from being caught in the blast. Parts of her hair were singed off, and other parts were clumped together.
It was gut-churning to see her so damaged, and I felt rage at Tabitha swelling in my chest. That monster had hurt my girl. If Tabitha had survived the blast, I was going to tear her head off.
“That’s perfect, Mr. K,” Owen replied, interrupting my dark thoughts. “And please… if they try to take you somewhere, and you have a chance to run, then run. Please.” I shook my head at him, half worried that the statement would upset the older man, half worried that Owen hadn’t made his warning stringent enough. Elena’s wardens were tasked with reducing the male population of Patrus by sixty percent—by systematically isolating them from their families and loved ones, and then executing them.
I turned to set Violet down, taking great pains not to jostle her too much. She shifted fitfully as I rested her against the wall, but her eyes didn’t open again. I gently pushed hair out of her face, then turned back to Owen.
“How much time do we have?” I asked, studying his face.
Owen shrugged, then raised his arm to wipe away the sweat collecting on his forehead. “Hard to tell. I spotted them when they were close to the turnoff for the farm, but I hightailed it through the field. They had to go the long way around, but they were in a car, so…” Owen made a gesture with both his hands, as if weighing something, then let his hands drop down.
I grumbled a curse and grabbed my gun, sliding back the muzzle and chambering a round. Owen’s look was wary, but he didn’t hesitate in pulling out his own gun. I took a deep breath, trying to calm my frazzled nerves. To say I hadn’t gotten a lot of sleep the last few days would be an understatement, what with the Matrian attack on Ashabee’s manor, and then Violet running off to face Tabitha in order to rescue her family. Granted, she hadn’t gone alone, but if I hadn’t gone after her…
I shook away the grim image of myself shouting over her body as I tried to force her to breathe again, and exhaled slowly. After a moment, I looked at Owen. “Did you remember to hide the—”
“Of course I remembered to hide the bloody car,” the younger man spat back, his spine stiffening. “I’m not a moron, Viggo.”
I grinned at him in reply, and after a long, hard look at me, he relaxed slightly. I wasn’t sure when this teasing had worked its way into our exchanges. Truth be told, I had been ready to hate Owen since day one. After hearing Violet talk about him… excessively.
But after she had convinced me there was nothing between them, and after all the things Owen had done for us, the man had earned my grudging respect. I had even started considering him a friend, which was rare for me. I tended to be a loner, even before all this insanity had started. Apart from Alejandro and his wife Jenny… No, I preferred to keep my list of loved ones small.
Owen had earned my friendship, however. He had been firm, fair, and honest, and had a depth of integrity I rarely saw in people. He may not have always done the right thing, but when he made a mistake, he took responsibility for it. The man had refused to abandon me and Violet in our hour of need—it had never even been a possibility to him. I was glad to have him with us.
“Y’know,” Owen drawled, and I looked up to meet his gaze. “Getting into a fight in this position might only make things worse.” He looked pointedly at our guns.
I understood what he was saying. I even agreed with it to a certain extent. Better to not have to start shooting, because that would only get us killed. Better to give in at first, then try to escape later. But then I looked back at Violet, at the damage to her face and body, and felt myself hardening as reason escaped me.
“They’re going to have to kill me before they can lay a finger on her,” I replied, my voice as sharp as steel.
Owen’s eyes widened in alarm, and I looked down and realized my hands were shaking with barely repressed rage. All the humor from earlier had evaporated under the force of my fury. I forced myself to take a deep breath. And another. And a third. It was enough, for the moment, to quell the seething anger that had built up in my stomach and chest, tense and raw.
“Sorry,” I grated out after a moment. “I’m just…”