The Gender Lie (The Gender Game #3) by Bella Forrest (i have read the book a hundred times .txt) 📕

as my lips pressed to hers. I felt her soft surrender as she leaned into me, and I kissed her like she was the air I needed to breathe.

She gave a low moan, and I slid my tongue between her lips, caressing hers with my own. If I had died right there, it would have been worth it. To feel her fingers sliding through my hair, as if she couldn’t believe I was finally back in her arms.

I groaned, wanting to feel her more fully against me, remembering the scent of her skin from when she had first kissed me, but as I tugged at her, she resisted.

Slowly, tenderly, she broke the kiss, pressing smaller kisses against my lips, my jaw, and my cheeks, before resting her forehead against my own again.

“What happened?” I asked.

Violet settled a hip on the bed beside me. “Well, how much do you remember?” she asked.

I licked my lips, which had become parched yet again. Violet noticed, and immediately filled the empty cup that Dr. Tierney had left on the tray next to the bed. I reached for it, my hands shaking.

I felt Violet’s eyes as they drifted to my hands. She gently used her free hand to push them away, and then leaned forward, pressing the rim of the cup to my lips. I frowned, irritated that I was as weak as a newborn kitten. I considered turning away from the cup, but I refrained because my need to drink was overpowering, and it wasn’t Violet’s fault I was so weak. She was just trying to help me.

I took several long pulls from the cup, nearly draining it, and then leaned back in the pillow, considering her question.

“I… was shot,” I said slowly, untangling my hazy and confused recollection of what happened in the lab with the twin princesses.

Violet nodded, setting the cup back on the table with a hollow click. She peeled back the right side of my hospital gown over my shoulder, and I stared at the puckered, half-healed pink scar sitting just next to my shoulder socket, under the collarbone. An inch to the left, and it would’ve nicked an artery. Two inches, and it would have torn through my lungs.

Still… the wound was doing remarkably well, considering how long…

My thoughts faltered as I realized I had no idea how long I had been unconscious. Judging by the wound, much longer than I thought. I gave Violet a probing look as she pulled the fabric back up, covering the scar.

“Twenty-one days,” she said, guessing the question that must be running through my mind.

I let out a slow breath, my mind trying to comprehend. “I… I don’t understand,” I whispered. Her face was sympathetic as she reached out to take my hand. “How could a gunshot…”

“It wasn’t the gunshot, you idiot,” she admonished, a small smile playing on her lips. “It was the mega dose of adrenaline. You… you caused a tear in your heart.”

“Several,” chimed in Dr. Tierney from behind us.

Violet pushed a lock of hair out of her face, and gave an exaggerated eye roll that only I could see. I knew she was trying to be funny, but it wasn’t funny. I stared up at her, and the humor bled from her expression. Her gaze drifted down to the blanket.

“Sorry,” she said.

I frowned and took a deep breath, trying to sort through the tremulous emotions I was experiencing. “What happened exactly?” I asked after a few seconds.

“They had to put you into a medical coma, to keep your heart rate low. It prevented the muscles from giving out or tearing more, and bought us some time to fetch a surgical instrument we needed to repair the tears.”

My hand drifted up to touch my chest, as if reassuring myself that my heart was still beating, just inches under the skin and muscles. Violet’s hand came up and settled gently over mine. I gripped a few of her fingers tightly, meeting her eyes.

“Who’s they?” I asked.

Violet bit her lower lip, and had opened her mouth to respond when three things happened at once—the lights flickered and then dimmed. A red pulsating light activated over the door, and a loud klaxon poured through a speaker located in the ceiling of the room.

“Attention, attention,” a robotic voice boomed. “Failure to input classified code within timeframe. Protocol three dash seven enacted. Personnel have ten minutes to comply.”

I blinked and barely had time to look at Violet in confusion as the door behind her swung open and a blond-haired man I didn’t recognize poked his head in.

“Violet, Desmond is on the radio—she needs you and me to report to her now.”

Violet turned to the man. “Go, I’ll catch up.”

The man nodded back and then disappeared. The siren filled the silence between us as she swung back to me.

“Who was that?” I demanded. “What’s going on?”

“That was Owen. And I’m not sure what’s going on yet, but I’ll go find –”

I had already started moving, pulling the blanket off my body. My legs were stiff and ached as I swung them over to the side of the bed. I was shocked at how damn weak I felt. As I placed my feet on the floor, Dr. Tierney appeared next to me, a firm hand on my chest.

“Mr. Croft, no,” she said, taking a step closer to me as she noted my weakness, making it more difficult for me to stand up. I batted her hand to the side. Or rather, I attempted to—I was barely able to move her arm an inch.

“Mr. Croft,” she said primly, her lips a thin line. “I spent a rather tedious six hours sealing all of those holes in your heart. Six. So, I expect you to lie down and relax, not get up too soon and destroy my hard work within minutes.”

I looked at Violet, and she crossed her arms, radiating her own displeasure.

Sensing my inevitable defeat, I let out an irritated growl, swung my legs back in the