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

As I examined the floor, I realized that whatever was in there could see the void beneath, and I felt the blood drain from my face. Being stuck in that room would be my worst nightmare come to life.

I panned the flashlight around, looking for whatever was in there. For a second, it seemed like the room was completely empty, when suddenly something leapt up from the floor, slamming against the window.

I jerked back and angled the flashlight down. Going on my tip toes, I saw a pale form crouched on the ground just under the window.

It stiffened, and straightened slowly, and my free hand came up to cover my mouth as I realized what it was.

It was a human boy. His brown hair matted and unclean. His skin was abnormally pale, and his brown eyes watched me warily. He was wearing some sort of gray overalls, but they were torn and ragged. Judging from his height and size, he appeared to be around eight years old.

“Hello?” I said, pressing my hand on the window.

The boy stared at my hand for a second, cocking his head to one side. He reached up with one hand, and I smiled encouragingly.

The boy froze, and then his face contorted. He lifted his lips in a snarl, and without warning, he launched himself at the window, his head slamming into it with such force that his eyebrow split open.

He staggered back, clutching his head, and I realized the box was soundproof. I watched him shake his head a few times, and then turn around to face me. He opened his mouth and seemed to be screaming in rage at me.

I watched as he reached up to touch the wound on his eyebrow, his fingers coming away wet with blood. With a sickening smile, he began smearing the blood around on his face, painting his face in such a way that it gave him a savage appearance.

He moved back over to the window, and placed his hand against it, leaving a bloody handprint.

Then he smiled—an eerily innocent smile that made my stomach churn and my heart beat faster—and began to spin around the room.

As he spun, I noticed a dark mark on his hand. It took a few seconds for me to realize that it was a black crescent moon tattooed on his flesh.

I felt the pit of my stomach drop out from under me and I staggered back a few steps from the cube.

My hands were shaking as I angled the flashlight to the rows of cubes stretching out next to me.

These were the lost boys of Matrus. The boys who failed the test.

My heart was palpitating as I moved back to the main catwalk. Licking my lips, I shone my flashlight from one cube to another. I had no idea what they were doing to the boys, but I did know my brother could be in one of those cubes.

I moved across the catwalk to the cube opposite, using the remote controls to extend the catwalk. It might not be likely that my brother was in this one, or the next one, but he was down here, in one of these cells.

“Tim!” I shouted before I could stop myself, my voice reverberating through the empty room. My voice lingered in the precipice, Tim’s name fading slowly in the void.

I knew what it was to be caged and imprisoned. But these boys were completely isolated—something I'd not had to endure. The thought of my brother enduring it for eight years made my vision cloud up with tears.

I was determined to find him, and I would not leave this facility until I did. Let anyone try to stop me.

So I moved from cube to cube, seeking the first person in the world whom I had ever failed, determined to make it up to him.

31

Viggo

The wet cracking sound that punctuated the explosion of pain was so loud, my eardrums throbbed. There was a dim moment of blackness, and when I came to again, I was bent over, my face toward the floor. I could taste the blood as it welled into my mouth from my re-split lip, and I spat it out on the floor.

Coughing, I sat back up and glared at my attacker. “Who taught you how to hit?” I said, baring my teeth at her.

She just grinned in that calm, eerie way and raised her hand for another blow.

I braced myself, but kept my eyes on hers, trying not to convey my fear as her hand came down.

She hit harder than anyone I had ever come up against, and that was with an open hand. There was something going on with her—she was insanely strong, but slim. Lithe even. There was nowhere for her to hide muscle, so then how was she hitting me so hard?

As I came to from her latest blow, I rocked my jaw back and forth, making sure it wasn’t broken. Whoever she was, she was good at controlling her blows.

She also liked to change up the location of her hits. My entire body throbbed from her attention, and I was pretty certain she had broken a few of my ribs. I spat more blood on the floor, and slowly sat up.

Instantly a wave of dizziness overcame me, and I doubled over as my stomach heaved. I definitely had a concussion.

I rotated my head and looked at the second twin, who was calmly sitting on the table, her legs crossed, her head angled up at the ceiling.

“Don’t you want a turn?” I asked, and her head swiveled, her blue eyes coming to rest on me. She gave me a small, tight smile.

“No,” she replied. “I don’t think that I would.”

The first twin grabbed me by the collar of my shirt and hauled me back up. I hissed with pain and glared at her.

“You’re mine, pretty Patrian boy,” she declared, running a finger down my cheek. I flinched away, shooting her a disgusted look.

“You