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

"Thank you!" she breathed, before the three of them headed back to the seats.

I could guess what she must have been feeling because I knew what it was like to lose a child.

Five minutes later, another announcement was made for the commencement of the next fight. Everybody settled down and Viggo and I resumed our previous watching position, near the glass doors.

By the time the last fight was over, it was deep into the night. I wondered if Lee had intended for me to stay out this late. He had said that I could stay on with Viggo, though, so I guessed that he must have been aware of how long these events could last.

I had a spare key in my pants pocket, anyway, so I wouldn't need to wake him in case he had fallen asleep.

Nothing else noteworthy had happened in Viggo's policing department since we'd spotted the lost child. The two of us waited by the doors until the crowd had piled out and we were alone in the arena except for a few employees tidying up. All the other wardens had left already.

Viggo sighed, his eyes raking over the seats on the ground floor one last time, before turning to face the main entrance. "We're done," he said.

His green eyes were glassy and he looked tired. I pitied him. He not only had to drive me back to Lee's, but then he had his own journey to make to his cabin in the mountains. I wondered if on nights like this he ever regretted insisting on living so far away from everyone.

We left the stadium and emerged in the square. It was still busy out here. The crowds were dallying, standing, and talking excitedly about the fight, while others were piling into eateries that lined the adjoining street.

As we crossed the open plaza, a trio of men caught my eye. They were sitting squarely in front of the stadium's entrance, on one of the benches. They wore boots and their general scruffy demeanor reminded me of the men we'd chased yesterday. On examining them closer, I realized that they even had the same triangular tattoos beneath their right eye.

And they were staring right at me.

As they rose to their feet, I tugged on Viggo's coat sleeve. I tried to point them out to him discreetly, which was difficult, considering their focus was zoomed in on me.

"Those guys," I whispered, raising myself on my tiptoes to get closer to Viggo's ear while turning my back on them. "You see their tattoos? They're from the same gang who was involved in the kidnapping yesterday."

"Yes," Viggo said and stopped still to meet their gaze. His fists clenched and then he began walking toward them, with me trailing along after him.

He cleared his throat as we approached. "Evening, gentlemen," he said tersely. "What might you be staring at?"

It was unsettling that their attention remained on me, even as Viggo addressed them. Why me? What's so interesting about me?

Their focus ought to be solely on Viggo, and getting the hell out of here before getting themselves into trouble with him.

"Something wrong?" Viggo pressed.

The man in the middle with scraggly black hair looked steadily back at Viggo, not appearing the slightest bit intimidated.

"Is there a problem?" he asked coolly. "Is it a crime to sit here?"

"No," Viggo replied. His eyes raked over their tattoos. "But considering that you belong to the same gang as your friends who were arrested yesterday, I suggest you not get too cocky around here…" Viggo's glare intensified. "Know what I'm saying?"

"Not sure what you mean by 'gang,' sir," he replied. "You have no evidence that we belong to anything."

Viggo didn't bother arguing with him. These guys were gutsy. Used to living on the edge of the law, pushing its borders as hard as they could.

All three men's focus returned to me once more, their eyes dark and threatening, before they stalked off.

Viggo drew in a shallow breath as they turned down an alleyway. Then he glanced down at me, a slight look of concern in his eyes… Concern which, in turn, unsettled me.

"Why didn't you, like, arrest them or something?" I asked. "Isn't the tattoo evidence enough that they belong to the same gang?"

"It's not solid enough evidence. I can't simply arrest someone for having a tattoo. Or sitting and staring."

"So you're just letting them go," I murmured. "Letting them wander off into the city…"

"You seem to forget that I don't make the rules around here," Viggo reminded me pointedly.

"And why were they looking at me?"

"We can only speculate, can't we?" he said, before closing his hand around my wrist and leading me away from the square. We headed to the street that led back to the promenade. "We didn't manage to catch that guy who ran away," Viggo explained. "The escapee likely told his friends about the wardens who got involved in the kidnapping—and no doubt also mentioned you. It's not every day that a woman takes down a man in an arrest. In fact, I bet it's never happened in all of this nation's history—at least, certainly not the way you did it."

His grip tightened on me as we entered the crowded street, as if afraid I might slip away somehow. He remained holding me just as firmly until we had left the bustling promenade and returned to the parking lot where he had left his motorbike.

He opened up his seat and lowered his guns into the compartment.

"So…" I blew out, leaning against one of the bike's handles. "What's happening tomorrow then? Will I see you in the morning?"

He shook his head. He refastened the seat lid before meeting my eyes. "No. I have a day off tomorrow."

"A day off, huh? I guess that means you'll be fighting then?" I recalled a fight noted in the schedule I'd peeked at in his gym, but since he had already told me he spent his spare time in fights, this was hardly an