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

through the streets of the city, the orange streetlights chasing the shadows away. The view from the back of the truck was limited, and we were all too tense to talk. Truthfully, if anybody had wanted to talk, I wouldn’t have known what to say. We were heading into the lion’s den without any idea of what was going to happen. My hand throbbed at every bump the truck went over, and my eyelids felt like drooping, but my brain kept tumbling through scenarios one after the other, unable to stop.

I heard the high-pitched whine of the brakes as we slowly rumbled to a halt, and I held my breath, waiting to see whether this would be another brief stop, or if we had finally reached our destination. According to my watch, we’d been driving for twenty minutes after our wait.

The familiar shiver of the truck abruptly died as Viggo killed the engine. I heard his door open and close, followed by the sound of footsteps walking toward the back. After a few moments, the tarp was peeled back to reveal three wardens and Viggo. The three wardens had their guns drawn, and I found myself flinching away in alarm.

“Prisoners,” Viggo said loudly, giving me a worried look. Luckily, his back was to the wardens, so they didn’t notice. “Step out of the vehicle. One at a time. You first.” He pointed at me, and I slowly stood, my legs stretching after the bumpy ride. I walked over to him, my boots echoing loudly. As I approached the opening, I could see that the truck had stopped inside a long tunnel eerily lit by yellow running lights.

I squatted down and set one foot on the bumper, and Viggo grabbed my arm, helping me down. He staged it well—from the wardens’ perspective, it would look like he had gotten impatient and hauled me down. But he was careful not to hurt me, or irritate my hand, which was definitely beginning to feel swollen under my makeshift bandage.

“You three, take one prisoner each. There’s no need to keep your weapons pointed like that—they’re restrained,” Viggo ordered.

The three wardens didn’t question him, but they remained cautious as they ordered Ms. Dale, Owen, and Jay out one by one. Viggo looked impatient, and it was hard to tell whether it was genuine or just for show. Maybe a little of both. While the rest of the crew filed out, Viggo waved his free hand at Tim, who slowly got out, leaving Samuel in the cab.

Then, at some unheard command, we were moving forward, crossing the road—heading for some steps on the side of the tunnel leading to a single door. I looked around, trying to form an impression of this place in case we had to escape in a hurry. The two lanes in the center seemed to be clear, but construction signs, piles of lumber, and sand barrels loomed out of the yellow twilight in the other lanes closer to the sides of the tunnel. I looked back to see that we’d parked along the farthest edge, behind a low concrete barrier of the kind that I’d seen used to separate larger highways, when Viggo and I had been on patrol back during my mission in Patrus. It seemed like ages ago. Years ago.

The door in the tunnel, which looked like no more than a maintenance door and wasn’t visibly guarded, swung open as we approached, revealing a man waiting for us just inside.

“Mr. Croft,” he greeted Viggo, his hands behind his back. “I don’t believe we’ve met personally. I’m Guard Kellen—one of the king’s personal security force. Your prisoners will be searched before King Maxen will meet with them. Not that we doubt you, but we can’t take any chances.”

“I understand,” Viggo said, hauling me up by my elbow and thrusting me over toward Kellen.

Kellen was the very model of efficiency as he patted me down. It wasn’t my first pat-down, so I did what I had always done—stared at the wall just over Kellen’s shoulder. After he had checked me, he handed me back to Viggo, and then proceeded to pat down the others.

I held my breath when Kellen got to my brother. I wasn’t sure how Tim would react to the pat-down—it was clear he wasn’t happy. His arms were crossed over his chest, and he stared down at the floor, his eyes sullen. When Kellen moved away from him, I exhaled silently in relief.

After we were declared free of weapons, Kellen led us down a narrow gray hallway with only three doors that I could count. Two guards were standing just outside the second door, as innocuous as the others. They pushed it open as we approached, letting us into a small room with four chairs set out in a semi-circle, facing a large mirror. Looking closer at it, I realized that it was the same kind of glass they had used in the facility Viggo and I had discovered in The Green: mirror on one side, window on the other.

“They are to be cuffed through the chairs,” Kellen said, and Viggo pulled a key out of his pocket, making a big show of unlocking one of my cuffs before sitting me down and running the cuff through the bars of the chair. I hissed in pain when he inadvertently hit my hand, and couldn’t help but wince when he didn’t even act apologetic—even though I knew that would blow our cover.

Once we had all been cuffed in a similar fashion, with Kellen surveying us impassively, the man pulled the door shut behind him.

Though I had been sleepy before, adrenaline now pulsed through my veins, making the moments tick by like hours. We were only left sitting in tense silence for a few minutes, however. Then a light came on behind the mirror, turning it brightly translucent. Behind the glass, two guards flanked a middle-aged man with broad shoulders, sandy brown hair that ran precisely to his jaw, and