Page 115 of What Doesn't Kill You…

"Unless you really don't need to know something," Violet amended.

Her mother narrowed her eyes, but Samuel put his hand on his wife's arm to stop her. "Violet is the expert and we don't want to scare the girls." He cocked his head toward Poppy and Marigold who were soaking up every word.

"No." Her mother rallied. "Okay, let's get this room sorted." She turned to Jasmine and her daughters and started issuing orders.

Meanwhile, her father took a step closer to Violet. "Tell me the bastard is dead," he said in a tone filled with fury.

Violet had never felt closer to her father than in that moment. For once, she knew they perfectly understood each other.

"He's definitely dead," she said and saw satisfaction gleam in his eyes. For some reason, she felt she had to give him more. "Max took care of him because he was about to shoot me."

Her father sucked in a breath. Awkwardly, he patted her shoulder. "Good," he said. "That's good. I'm very pleased with Max. It makes up for his earlier foolish decision to lock you in the bathroom." Violet wasn't sure about that, but she'd sort it out with her difficult husband once he could talk again.

Her dad turned to the rest of the family. "Let's get that mattress on the bed so Violet and Max can rest," he ordered.

Everyone hurried to do as he said.

Violet stood beside Katrina. "Thanks for looking after my family," she said. "Knowing them, it couldn't have been easy."

"It was fine actually," Katrina said with a grin. "All I did was follow your grandmother's orders."

"Typical," Violet said. "I should have warned you about her. Are you okay here? I need to check on Max."

"I've got this," she assured Violet. "You go, shower, and get some rest. I'll hold off the authorities until morning, and I'll have Harris put your bags in the bedroom when he gets back. You could definitely use a change of clothes."

Violet examined the state of herself. Her clothes had dried out some, but she was still covered in blood and mud. "Sure, I can shower. It's perfectly normal to have three a day."

But then, it had been a very long day.

As she turned to go, her grandmother stepped into her path. She held out her hand, palm up. "I'll take those wedding rings," she said sweetly. "If you're finished with them."

Violet frowned at her. "They're mine now," she said. "I'm keeping them."

Lian smiled knowingly.

Violet growled, swept past her gran and into the bedroom. Max wasn't there but the bathroom door was open, and she could hear Harvey chatting away. As she entered the bathroom, her family came in behind her carrying the mattress.

"Poppy," her mother ordered. "Get the bedding. We'll make this up straight away."

Violet closed the bathroom door over behind her and surveyed Max, who was sitting on the toilet lid. He was dressed only in his underwear, and it looked like Harvey had cleaned up most of him.

With effort, he lifted his head and smiled at Violet. Then winced when his busted lip hurt him. It was an improvement. At least he wasn't staring into space and muttering about Damien.

"Lots of cuts and bruises," Harvey said as he packed up the first-aid kit spread out over the bathroom sink. "I'll get an icepack for his eye, but don't worry about using it regularly tonight. Sleep is more important. We'll ice it properly tomorrow. I'm concerned he might have a couple of broken ribs, but I can't tell for sure without an x-ray. Just be careful until we can get him checked out. There's not much we can do for a broken rib anyway except let it heal on its own."

An image appeared in Violet's mind. Arlo punching Max in the gut while he was bound to the chair in Damien's office. She growled low in her throat.

"He's dead," Max said, reading her mind. "I won."

"Yes, you did." Violet brushed his hair back from his face, noting that Harvey had helped him wash it. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I've been beaten up," Max said wryly.

There was nothing she could say to that. Harvey, meanwhile, grinned at her. "Your turn," he said, motioning to the blood on her clothes.

"It's not mine," she said. "The most I have is some scrapes from clawing my way out of the ceiling in the bungalow."

Max had the grace to blush. "Is that how you got out?"