The Gender War (The Gender Game #4) by Bella Forrest (read novel full TXT) 📗

next to him, and I followed, shakily, graciously accepting the hand Viggo offered me. I looked back toward Matrus and tried to find the spot in the river where Alejandro’s boat had been sinking minutes before, but the darkness covered everything, from the no-longer-welcoming shore to the wreckage of our ride.

“Do you think it’s under now?” I asked softly.

Viggo stood behind me, draping an arm over my shoulder. “It doesn’t matter,” he replied, just as quietly. “We made it.”

I nodded and turned to follow Owen and Viggo deeper into the tall grass that grew on this side of the river as well. We sifted through it in the dimness, keeping our heads down, and paused when we came to a small, almost cave-like area. The tall grass had been pressed down and was thick enough to stand on, yet the surrounding grass still covered it, making it difficult to see from above. The rest of our group was sitting there in a wide circle. I barely had a chance to react as Tim jumped up and threw his arms around me in a hug for the second time in a day, his relief palpable.

“Jay… Me… Jump…” he grumbled.

It took me a moment to remember his idea on the boat, and I frowned at him, unsure of how to respond. Finally, I went with, “It doesn’t matter—we made it, right?”

Tim gave me a sullen shrug as he let me go, but didn’t say anything, sinking back into the grass next to Jay. I turned to Ms. Dale, who was tending to Alejandro, trying to rouse him from the blow Viggo had delivered. “How is he?” I asked, and she looked at me.

“He’ll be fine—but Mr. Croft didn’t need to hit him quite that hard.” I could hear the disapproval in her voice, and I felt the urge to laugh.

“I didn’t have time to gauge the punch,” Viggo said defensively. “He’ll be fine—he’s much tougher than he looks.”

“Is it your practice to assault unarmed elderly men, Mr. Croft?” came Ms. Dale’s snide reply, and I rolled my eyes.

“You two flirt too much,” I interjected before Viggo could formulate his response to her. I had the distinct pleasure of watching both of them gape at me before I looked toward Owen, who had been impatiently trying to get my attention. “What?” I asked him.

“I was on the handheld with Thomas when we were hit,” he said.

“Wait,” I interrupted, my heart dropping as I processed things that I had been too busy to think about during our escape. “Where did you get a handheld? Was it the one you had with you? Does Desmond have access to the whole network?”

Owen blinked as my questions hit him, and he frowned. “Whoa—no. I stole one out of a guard’s station in the palace on my way to the garage. It doesn’t have our decryption algorithm installed, but I had to risk it. And no, Desmond doesn’t have access to the network. I mean, she does… but it always has to be through Thomas. He’s paranoid like that. It was the only way Desmond could get him to work with us.”

“Exactly. Owen! How do you know he won’t just report everything you say to Desmond?” I trusted Owen, but if he had blown our cover, I wasn’t optimistic about our chances. Most of us were running on empty. My body still hurt too much to seriously think about food, but the last time Viggo, Ms. Dale and I had eaten was that morning on Alejandro’s boat… And now our stores were deep in the bottom of Veil River. Irritation flashed through me, but I tamped it down, waiting for an explanation.

“Not everyone is one of Desmond’s sycophants,” Owen replied tartly. “Thomas has worked with Desmond because he hates Patrus, but he’s never been interested in following her off a cliff. And…” he hesitated, then said simply, “Thomas will do anything I ask, Violet. Anything.”

No matter what was true, it was clear that Owen didn’t believe Thomas would betray us. And since the information was already out, we’d have to take our chances. I sighed, then asked, suddenly curious, “Did you tell him about Desmond’s deceptions? What did he say?”

Owen frowned again, his face shadowed with anger and betrayal. I watched him open and close his hand several times, making and unmaking a fist. “He said that he had predicted a seventy-four point three percent chance that Desmond was working for Matrus the entire time,” he finally spat.

“Oh.” I bit my lip, and then rested my hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Owen.”

He shrugged his shoulder out from under my hand and shook his head. “There’s no reason for you to apologize. I got myself into this mess… and I’m going to do my best to fix it. Anyway, before the explosion, Thomas was telling me that Desmond sent a team into Patrus. Very hush-hush. They were ordered to work outside of Thomas’ network, so he doesn’t know much. Except that they were supposed to leave their handhelds behind in case they were compromised… and their target is the king.”

“Damn,” I said, taking a step back. I took a deep breath, trying to think for a moment. “We can’t do anything from here on the riverbank. We’ve got to find transportation to Patrus… and more supplies.”

“Well, I thought… I can reach out to the Porteque gang under my old alias. They would probably be willing to meet us and smuggle us in. I don’t have any money on me, but I bet I can scrape by on credit…”

“I’m sorry,” said Viggo, scooting next to me. I wasn’t surprised he had been listening in—it wasn’t like there was a lot of space in the small area. “Did you say Porteque gang? Like how you got in last time?”

I nodded at Viggo, but then returned to shaking my head at Owen. “It won’t work—we don’t have any costumes!”

Owen fidgeted, throwing Ms. Dale and me apologetic looks. “It will if we