The Gender Game 5 by Bella Forrest (top 5 books to read .TXT) 📗

onto a large piece of rock that seemed to stretch out slightly beyond the cliff, slanting into open space. I assumed it took a turn at some point, to make it navigable going down—this must have been the way people usually climbed up to the base.

Guys, I began, we’ve got cameras. How long do you think—

An excited shriek interrupted my report, and I turned back toward the ledge at the cave mouth. I could see the light from Owen’s flashlight pointed out from the ledge, and caught the fine movements of the rope. Amber whooped again in excitement, the subvocalizers perfectly recreating her exuberance right in my ears as she rappelled down the cliff above us.

Really? I growled through the device, and her voice turned bashful—but not quite repentant.

Oops! Sorry!

I could see Owen smiling through his mask, and I moved over to him, ready to help him pull her onto the ledge. But it was apparent neither of our efforts were needed as Amber kicked off the rock a final time, swinging out and away in a graceful arc before doing something with the rope that arrested her fall. She glided into the mouth of the cave, landing five feet from the edge, both her feet planted firmly.

All right, I’m jealous, I said as I helped Owen slip the rope from her, and she grinned wildly through the mask. Owen grabbed the lines and held them out over the cliff face; Amber keyed something into a little blinking control pad that tucked neatly into a pocket of her jacket, and the lines jerked and began slowly winding back upward.

The cave remained silent but for the scuffling sounds made by the three of us, the regard of the cameras weighing heavily on me. It was almost worse knowing the Liberators had probably seen us—and still hadn’t done anything. What could they be planning?

No welcoming committee? I commented, trying to keep my tone light, as we moved toward the airlock.

Owen and Amber looked at each other and shook their heads. I’m sure they’ve seen us by now, Owen said, but we’re not trying for stealth. We’ve gotta show them we have nothing to hide.

Admirable, I said, swallowing. As long as they don’t choose to shoot first and ask questions later.

We were at the airlock. This would be the moment of truth—from here on out, we were going to be completely surrendering ourselves into the hands of the still-hostile Liberators. In the airlock, they had full control over whether we lived or died. It was either a brilliant persuasive move, or suicide. I took a deep breath, ready to find out which, just to get it over with.

I pressed down the handle and pulled the massive door open wide enough for all of us to step into. Owen helped me pull it closed, while Amber moved over to the opposite side, heading for the glowing red button that would activate the chamber’s detoxifying technology. She waited while we closed the door—when I heard it catch with a slight sucking sound, I gave her a thumbs-up. She hit the button.

Red lights started flashing on the doors, and I felt the pressure in the room change as the toxic air was filtered out. I looked at a glowing green sign on the wall with a digital countdown on it, watching the time running down. The numbers dropped from forty-five to thirty. They were quickly approaching fifteen when a loud klaxon alarm sounded, and the numbers froze.

I looked sharply at Amber and Owen, who returned equally sharp looks from under their masks. Go time.

Subvocalizers off, Amber transmitted to us, her voice lacking its usual sauciness. We’ll be needing our voices to negotiate. Owen and I clicked off the devices just as the alarm abruptly cut off.

A sharp rapping sound came through from the inner airlock door, and I turned toward it, peering at the small round pane of glass in the door. There was a puff of static, followed by a sharp whine, as audio piped through from a hidden communication device.

“Put down your weapons,” a female voice demanded. “Or we’ll let you rot in there.”

10

Viggo

My hand was already reaching for my gun when a face appeared behind the thick glass of the window—a woman with dark skin and deep brown eyes who looked vaguely familiar. I exhaled and stopped myself just short of pulling the gun. It wasn’t Desmond. Still, I couldn’t recall who the woman was.

I turned to Owen for information, and his voice was low enough to reach only my ears: “Meera.” My brows drew down in confusion; there was an odd disconnect between my associations with the name and what confronted me now. When I had met Meera, she had been the cook at the facility. I hadn’t really gotten to know her—in fact, I had only met her once. The rest of the time I had been either in the hospital area, training the boys, or holed up in my room, most of my meals brought to me by Violet while I worked on their lessons.

I turned back to the door, curious as to why she was the one who had answered, and saw that Meera was glaring at Amber, her eyes full of malice.

“You have a lot of nerve showing up here,” her voice spat through the speakers, and I blinked at its vehemence.

Amber pressed her face close to the window. “Meera, please. You know us! You know we aren’t traitors. Desmond is lying to you!”

“You’re the liar,” Meera retorted, her face becoming more livid, even through the wavy glass. “You betrayed us!”

“Never,” Amber said more softly, her hand coming up to the window. “I would never betray you, Meera. You’re my friend. I care about you. I’ve… I’ve missed you. It’s why we’re here—we have proof that Desmond has been lying to you. If you just give us a chance…”

Meera’s drawn face did not lose any of its suspicion. But even in her