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

visible on the horizon. And the low, drifting clouds, tinted orange from the light below, drifted like smoke against the sky… I remembered that there had been a similar wispy smoke trail obscuring the stars on the night Lee and I had bombed the laboratory and flown away from Patrus.

I bit my lip, staring at the horizon, fearing to think about what this could mean. “Whatever it is, it’s probably what’s buying us time, as long as we don’t run into it. We’re going to have to deal with it later.”

Nobody argued, but our recent victory over the king’s guards no longer felt like a true escape. We rode in tense silence, broken only periodically by someone pointing out new smoke lines in the sky. A few more blasts rocked the night, some of them near, but most of them far away from us. Near the back of the truck, King Maxen groaned and mumbled in his unconscious state.

Soon enough, Viggo called back that we were nearing the park. I looked around, my nervousness about the city turning into downright fear: how were we going to find Quinn and Jay? What if they hadn’t made it?

We were slowing down, unsure of where to search, when a motorbike pulled up behind us and honked insistently. I would have suspected wardens if I hadn’t immediately recognized the riders—Quinn was driving, and Jay was holding on for dear life. Neither of them wore helmets; and before we could pull to a stop, Quinn said something to Jay, who stood up on the motorbike, grabbed Quinn under the armpits, and leapt into the back of the truck, throwing Quinn over the tailgate and tumbling over it himself.

I stared as the motorbike slid onto its side, coming to a skidding halt, wheels spinning furiously, as we drove away. Then I turned to where the two young men were dusting themselves off, not sure whether I wanted to hit them or throw my arms around them.

“Quinn! Jay! Are you guys okay?”

Jay pushed himself to his knees and looked up at me, a huge grin on his face. Quinn’s expression was pretty much the same. “We did it, Violet!” he said. “We got the handheld!”

I sighed, glad beyond measure that their stunt had ended well. “Why do you have to scare me like that?” I teased them, amused at the guilty look that slid across Quinn’s face for a moment. “I’m glad you made it, guys. Good job.”

Tim came up to congratulate the boys, grinning as hard as them. “Awesome!” He beamed at Jay.

All the energy of adrenaline inside me gave way to relief—and exhaustion. My right hand felt like a painful, swollen, useless club.

I wanted Viggo.

With some effort I managed to squeeze my aching body through the small window into the cab of the truck. When I slid awkwardly down and leaned against Viggo’s still-bare shoulder, he reached around and stroked the back of my neck, driving with one hand for a bit.

“The boys got back safe?” he asked me.

“Yes,” I said. “As crazy as it sounds.”

“I knew they’d make it,” Viggo said.

I sighed. I wished I could stop the discomfort that was still twisting my stomach into knots, despite the fact that they had returned safely. I knew that Quinn and Jay—and my brother, for that matter—wanted to help, but I hated that the boys had put themselves in such danger. I also hated my sneaking suspicion that they would have to do it again—and there wasn’t much I could do about it. Samuel laid a sympathetic head on my lap, and I scratched his ear in silent gratitude.

13

Violet

It was completely surreal to be sitting in Viggo’s cabin, the place where we’d shared our first kiss. Of course, at that time, I had been recovering from a concussion and feeling emotionally battered after being kidnapped by the Porteque gang. Still, I had never expected to see this place again after Lee and I had fled Patrus.

Viggo sat beside me at the round little kitchen table, across from a very irate King Maxen, negotiating with him for a deal that would secure Maxen’s participation in what was rapidly turning into our rebellion… or at least for him to get out of our way. The king of Patrus had a nasty purple bruise spreading across the lower portion of his face, and he was still in cuffs, having lost his privileges after a pathetic escape attempt shortly after breakfast (for which he had conveniently stayed put). I could see Jay and Tim outside through the window, throwing sticks for Samuel to chase, the dog’s furry brown body a blur as he scrambled over the pine-needle covered dirt surrounding the cabin. It seemed strangely idyllic.

Owen stood in the hallway with Amber and Quinn, presumably explaining everything that had happened over the last three or four days. Quinn had taken our story of Desmond’s betrayal silently, his normally chipper face tightening into a frown; though he didn’t ask questions or make objections, I couldn’t tell whether he believed us or not.

Even now, the morning after our escape, Amber remained sullen—her body stiff as a steel rod and her arms crossed over her chest. She was arguing with Owen, who seemed to take it in his stride, his body language more relaxed and confident. I wasn’t sure whether Amber could be swayed, but Owen was doing his best.

It had taken us a little more than two hours to get up here from the corner of the city where we’d kidnapped the king, avoiding the major highways in case there were wardens about… or, worse, in case the bridges had collapsed or been blocked by burning rubble. In my half-asleep, aching state, afraid for the city and everybody in it, I’d almost come to believe that there would be nothing left of this place, either, until Viggo pulled into the familiar drive and carried me from the truck.

My first true glimpse of Viggo’s