The Gender Game 2 by Bella Forrest (positive books to read txt) 📗

Frustrated by the lack of options, I kicked the wall, hard enough to make the vent to my left rattle. The rattle caught my attention, and I focused my gaze on the vent.

“Viggo,” I hissed, pointing at the vent.

He exchanged a glance with me, and then nodded. We crawled over to it.

Viggo slid his fingers through the grate, and began to pull. It didn’t want to come out, no matter how much Viggo pulled.

I ran my fingers over the edges, and found the holes for four screws, bolting it in place. Without hesitating, I pulled off my bag, positioning it between me and the wall, and fumbled around for my knife.

Pulling it out, I opened it up, and began attacking the screws. The banging had seemingly stopped, but I wasn’t going to waste time investigating why.

Viggo had noticed what I was doing, and reached in his pocket, pulling out his knife. We worked in tandem, sliding the tips of our knives into the slots of the screws, and turning.

“Lefty loosey, righty tighty,” I reminded myself, remembering my mother saying that one time when I had asked to help her hang some shelves.

Viggo frowned at me, and I shrugged. I caught the flash of a smile from him, and it almost made me forget my fear and smile with him. Almost.

The first screw I was working on slid out of the hole and fell to the floor. I blew a lock of hair out of my face, and started working on the other.

There was another bang, and I heard the sound of metal bending. The loud metal groan that filled the room made me want to cover my ears.

Viggo and I exchanged worried glances. My hands were shaking as I moved to the next screw, but I kept focus. I could barely hear the sound of voices coming from the hall, my heart was beating so loudly in my chest.

Viggo’s second screw fell to the floor, and he scooped them up and slipped them into his pocket. His eyes were now on me, urging me on voicelessly. I managed to catch the screw head with the tip of my knife, in spite of my shaking hands, and began twisting the knife to the left.

There were sounds coming from the door now, but I was too anxious to try and make sense of them. The screw slipped free finally, after what seemed like an eternity, and I exhaled in relief.

Viggo pried the grate from the wall, and grabbed my bag, sliding it in first. He then grabbed me by the shirt collar and started to shove me into the hole. The thin aluminum groaned under my weight and we both froze for a second, waiting to see if we had been noticed.

When nothing presented itself, Viggo’s hand pressed on my shoulders, urging me forward. Using my elbows, I wiggled into the pitch black hole. I came to a three-way intersection about four feet in, and wiggled around it to give Viggo enough room.

I waited for a second, but when Viggo didn’t follow, I pushed myself backward. It took some doing, but I managed to shift back far enough just in time to see Viggo placing the grate back over the hole.

“Viggo,” I hissed.

I couldn’t make out his face through the grate from that distance, but I heard his voice clear as day.

“Can’t fit. Besides, they know someone is in here, they just don’t know who.”

“Viggo!” I wheezed, a sudden panic overtaking me. There was no telling what they would do if they caught him.

“Calm down, Violet,” he whispered, his strong voice floating down the vent. I heard the scrape of the screws on the grate as he fit them in, finger tightening. “How many times have I rescued you?”

“What?” I gasped back, confused at the abrupt change of topic.

“They’re coming. The door is opening. How many times?”

I wriggled in the vent, maneuvering myself back toward the grate. “I don’t know! Why?”

I heard him slide the final screw in, twisting it with a grunt. Once it was done, he dipped his head down, so I could see his face. I reached for the grate, trying to grab it.

“It’s your turn to rescue me now, Vi,” he whispered, a small sad smile playing on his lips.

I bit back my cry, but tears were dripping down my face. I couldn’t lose Viggo—not now. We’d been through too much.

“They’re coming,” he whispered. “Move away from the grate.”

I watched as he disappeared from sight, his fingers coming through the grate. He heaved at it, like he was trying to pull it out, but I realized it was an act. I slowly backed away from the grate, obscuring myself in the darkness of the vent.

I had bitten back my tears and all sounds, when I heard someone speak.

“Well, well. Looks like we found a rat,” came a feminine voice caked with amusement and menace.

“Oh. Hello… ladies,” Viggo said, his fingers sliding back through the holes slowly. I could imagine him holding up his hands, trying to act cool and calm.

“Where is Violet Bates?” a second voice asked, her tone flat and even.

“Beats me. I’m just looking for my dog. Have you seen him? Brown fur, answers to the name—”

There was a wet cracking sound, one I recognized as flesh striking flesh, followed by a boneless sound of someone’s body hitting the floor. I covered my mouth with both hands to keep my cries from escaping.

27

Violet

I waited for them to hear me, to find me, but there was no indication that they had noticed me yet.

“Was that really necessary, Sister?” came the first speaker. That was interesting—the two were related. I wondered who they were. Matrian, from the sound of it.

“Probably not, but it was fun,” came the first voice.

There was a pregnant pause, and I held my breath, afraid to move. One panel flexing under my body weight, and they would know where I was. Viggo’s sacrifice would have been in vain.

“Check the vent,” commanded the