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

I hoped Amber and Owen weren’t putting all their faith in it. I hoped they, like me, were looping scenarios through their heads, planning what to do if this business went south.

Meera moved to the screens and briskly popped the video chip into the reader. A loading screen showed on the wall of monitors, and then the video started playing.

It was my second time watching the video, and that didn’t make it any better. In fact, it was somehow worse now because I knew what was coming. I felt my hands clench into fists as Violet stepped from the garden and onto the stone platform with a fountain. Her voice carried through, loud and strong. Tabitha’s voice was not as strong, due to the distance, but you could still make out her response.

I watched them exchange words, and nodded to myself, once again admiring Violet’s bravery in manipulating the situation to get the women and children of her family out of there. But as the seconds ticked by, my unease returned. When the first explosion caused the view of the camera to shudder and shake, I felt my gut tense, knowing the camera had been on Violet’s person at the time, that it was her bearing the brunt of being thrown to the ground.

The video continued, tracking Violet’s path as she fought with Tabitha before the second explosion went off. When Tabitha started talking about cracking the code for enhancing humans, I noticed several of the Liberators lean forward, probably becoming aware of the implications in that statement—namely, that Elena and Tabitha had access to Mr. Jenks’ complete research, something even Queen Rina hadn’t been given full access to.

But the real kicker came later, on the staircase, when Violet mentioned the boys. There was no mistaking the deadly intent behind Tabitha’s reply, and the room echoed with several audible gasps. I saw people raising their hands up to their mouths, as if covering up their shock would make the betrayal sting less.

We were getting close to the end of the video, and suddenly, the room felt incredibly small. I wasn’t sure I had the strength to watch it again. In fact, I knew I didn’t—I couldn’t watch as Tabitha smashed Violet’s face in, or as she propped her into a standing position so she could give her a so-called “honorable death”. Or listen as Violet laughed manically as she clicked the button, detonating the bomb on the fake egg. I looked from side to side; the two young women guarding me both stared, riveted, at the images on the screen. I nodded mildly at each of them and slipped toward the door.

I didn’t look back to see whether my guards were following me; the fact that there were no gunshots was enough. In the hall, I let out a shuddering breath, and then sucked air into my lungs. I moved over to the wall and pressed my hot forehead against the cool stone, trying to calm my boiling blood. Rage flowed thick and hot through my veins, but without a target, it was just burning me up.

I felt my hand curl into a fist again and closed my eyes, trying to resist the urge to use it on the wall. I knew it wouldn’t help. And with so many of us injured, it was not a good time to risk breaking my knuckles just because watching Violet being hurt like that made me want to kill something.

I fought for calm, trying to slow my breathing and practicing mental exercises to distract me from the feeling. I was halfway through one involving the alphabet when I felt a hand on my shoulder. I jerked away abruptly, and saw Owen—and then became aware of the four women who stood in the corridor with us. Obviously both my guards and Owen’s had followed us. They were watching our every move. But maybe that was a good thing. Maybe it would make them see us for the tired, scared human beings we were.

“What’s up?” I asked Owen.

“Video’s done,” he reported. “Amber is giving her report about Tabitha and… and Quinn. She, uh… she took some pictures so they could see.” His face looked younger than usual as his horror at his friend’s treatment shone through. I wondered again if our guards thought us cowards—or friends.

I shuddered, thinking of the endless number of stitches Quinn had received in the past twenty-four hours. Tabitha had torn the poor young man apart in front of Amber’s eyes. Amber had a lot of grit taking those pictures as evidence, but I was glad she had. Pictures spoke louder than words, and the story these told was just another reason for the Liberators to accept our testimony as fact.

Just then, Amber stuck her head out the door and gave us a look. Her face was uncharacteristically grim, but she didn’t look defeated, just emotionally drained.

“They’re ready for you,” she told me.

I took another deep breath and steeled myself. As I entered the room, my guards following silently at my heels, I expected to still feel the burgeoning hostility that had characterized the room earlier. I expected there would be a lot of pushback.

I didn’t expect the mingled expressions of curiosity, grudging respect, and vulnerability on the faces of the people in the room. Whispers shuttled around between them, dozens of low-volume conferences with heads together and eyes darting to us, to the screen, and back again. The Liberators in the room had the grim look of people who had just realized the string of tragic events that had been occurring the past week was indirectly their fault, and that some of them had even been duped into aiding the Matrian takeover. I could also see a growing anger in them, one I guessed would smolder for a while before erupting in a white-hot rage.

I didn’t know how this was going to go down. This was far scarier than some more dangerous missions I’d been on, but as I stood