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

sentiment, not on reason,” he said. “I find it distinctly unhelpful. However, if that’s what it takes to secure me a position within the safety of the group—and I can see that logic doesn’t sway you all—I suppose I can conform to the social norms… again. And there is the matter of him being used as a tactical weapon against us…”

Was that a concession? It was hard to tell through Thomas’ odd speech, but I thought it was. He wanted to talk to Amber again, and I happily gave her the handheld.

I turned back to the road, pleased that he’d agreed but frustrated that it had taken this amount of convincing. Working with Thomas was hard because he didn’t seem to have an ounce of concern for anyone but himself, and maybe Owen. It was going to be interesting to see what would happen if Thomas met Viggo.

At least the conversation had broken Amber out of her silence. She spent the better part of the next fifteen minutes soothing Thomas and continuing to build a plan with him. Despite her reticence about Desmond, I noticed that she seemed to care just as much about Solomon’s fate as I did.

Ending the call, she gave the handheld back to Owen. “Turn left at the next road,” she said, and Owen nodded.

We took the left, and drove for fifteen minutes through empty fields that had recently been harvested. The gray clouds hanging in the sky gave the whole thing a strangely desolate look—or maybe that was just the mood I was in.

I was distracted slightly when a gray stone wall finally came into view, and I whistled when we got closer. The wall was ten feet high at least, and it stretched far enough that it looked like the whole estate beyond it was fully surrounded. We pulled to a stop at a heavy-looking black iron gate, and I watched as Amber hopped out, came around the front of the truck, and entered a code into a little keypad set into an alcove in the wall next to it. I felt doubtful that getting in could be that easy, but there was a click and a soft whir, and the two sides of the gate began to draw apart, running easily on motorized tracks.

Once Amber was back in the cab, I asked, “How did you know that code would still work?”

She gave me a scathing glance, her jaw clenched, all her anger from earlier back tenfold. “My parents would never change it,” she said, her disgust so thick I felt like I was drowning in it. “They keep pretending that I want to come home.”

As Owen gunned the engine and started slowly moving down the drive, I had to wonder what we were getting into—and if we should get into it. By that time, though, the iron gates had closed behind us. It was too late to turn back.

16

Viggo

I whistled as we pulled through the gate, unable to keep myself from feeling impressed at the carefully manicured lawn that seemed to stretch on for miles around the sprawling mansion that loomed just half a mile down the road. I looked back and saw that Tim’s eyes were also wide as he took in the lavish surroundings—though, to be fair, his expression had been like this for almost the whole ride. I knew he must have been uncomfortable due to the continued contact with my back, but he hadn’t shown signs of pain—just pure excitement.

I’d had no idea that Amber’s family was rich, but it was readily apparent by the environment. The cost of water to keep the grass and hedges green could probably feed a family of five or six for months. Easily.

The house was of some ancient design I couldn’t quite place. It was set back from the road, atop a small hill. A wide staircase had been cut out of the hillside, leading up to a porch that spanned the entire front of the house. The porch sat under the second story, supported by massive white columns of stone. Wide bay windows framed the double set of heavy wooden doors, and there were two more sets of windows on either side before the porch ended, spaced about ten to twelve feet apart from one another.

The second story had smaller, more standard-sized windows, and it was designed as though someone had taken a sizable square chunk out of the front, leaving a wide, set-back balcony with some deck furniture on it. It was, by far, the most ostentatious house I had seen, aside from the king’s palace. It made me curious as to who Amber’s parents really were.

We approached the house, and I pulled to the side of the road and twisted the motorcycle’s throttle, accelerating past the truck and coming to a stop on the drive in front of the steps. A man I vaguely recognized was waiting at the front, a confused, anticipatory expression on his face. His auburn hair was a clear indication that he was Amber’s father. He was fit—although not muscular—and was well into his forties.

He frowned as I took the helmet off and dismounted, and his frown deepened when Tim did the same. It wasn’t until the truck came to a stop and Amber hopped out that a smile appeared. “Amberlynn,” he exclaimed, his arms spreading wide as he moved down the stairs toward her. His steps faltered as he took her in, and his smile slipped away. “What on earth have you done to your hair?”

Amber’s expression was glacial as she climbed the stairs toward him, ignoring his question completely. His smile made a cautious comeback as she approached, but then flickered and died permanently when his head turned to the back of the truck. I took a step forward so I could better see what was causing the alarmed expression on his face, and then suppressed a groan when I saw King Maxen being offloaded—still in