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

had no authority to activate those guns,” I hissed. “We made it perfectly clear that we were in charge, not you.”

“But… but… this is my home!” he pleaded.

I scowled at him, unable to keep the disgust off my face. “You killed eight people tonight,” I whispered. “Eight human beings who were afraid and looking for help.”

He said nothing, but the defiance was back, and it was strong enough to make me almost want to pick up the gun and pull the trigger. I shook my head at him, feeling my heart start to ice over.

“You’re a coward,” I said a little more loudly. “You’re a coward and a murderer.” I reached for the gun, but had barely placed a hand on it when Ashabee threw himself to the ground.

“I’m sorry!” he cried from his knees, his hands clasped together. “Please, I’m unarmed, and I haven’t done anything to hurt you, not even when my daughter shot me. Please—I promise—I’ll never do anything without permission. I promise. I promise. Please.”

I gritted my teeth together, all my disgust for the man changing tone. I looked away, staring at a painting depicting a man in a rowboat, escaping from poisoned earth and river toward green fields and forests. The sound of Ashabee’s begging filled the room. After a few moments I slowly pulled my hand away from the gun.

“Now I can see why Amber didn’t want to say goodbye to you,” I said.

“A-Amberlynn?” the man sobbed. “She left? Without even…”

“You wouldn’t even have noticed if I hadn’t told you, would you? And she said to tell you to go to hell, actually,” I snapped, wanting this whole thing to be over. “Enough. Get up. Stop crying.”

Ashabee obediently rose to his feet and sat down, quivering in fear, tears sliding down his cheeks. Rolling my eyes, I tossed him a box of tissues from the desk, and he caught it, snatching several pieces to dry his tears and blow his nose.

I waited until he was done, and then leaned forward, clasping my hands together and resting them and my forearms on the desk. “I’m letting you stay, but you will be confined to your quarters. If you ever find yourself alone in a room with Jay or Viggo, then you shout for help—hopefully one of us can get there in time to keep them from ripping you apart. When we leave, we will leave you here, to continue your life in your home as you see fit. And that’s a lot more than you deserve, because between you and those eight people buried underneath the wall... I would much rather it have been you who died. Do you understand?”

“I… I understand,” he stuttered after a long moment.

I leaned back in my chair and watched as he picked himself up to leave, his eyes still watery.

Suddenly a beeping sound sang out from the computer, and I turned, staring at the screen. Any small sense of accomplishment I’d felt at subduing Ashabee turned into abject horror as a heloship appeared on the monitor, just as it was touching down, the crest of Matrus emblazoned boldly on its side.

24

Viggo

Henrik’s voice was low, but urgent, and the urgency was what jerked me from sleep. I looked over to see him standing at the door. It was midmorning. “Matrians,” he said—possibly repeated. “Now!”

I was out of bed, gun in my hand, within ten seconds, following him down the stairs and through the hall. Violet was already at the front door, Ashabee next to her, and I felt a stab of fury when I saw him. The two were in some sort of stand-off, and I prayed he hadn’t said one cross word to Violet, because it would be the final straw. As far as I was concerned, that man didn’t have the right to live, let alone speak to Violet.

“I can’t trust a thing you say,” Violet said to the man, and I silently cheered her on.

“I’m just saying they might not be here for you,” Ashabee whispered insistently, and Violet ground her teeth in annoyance. Ashabee’s eyes flicked over to me, his alarm intensifying, but he kept talking. “You’ve heard the news! They’re taking the ‘wealthy and influential’ back to the palace for protection. They’re here for me—they might not even know you are here!”

Violet had told me that news when we were out on our scouting mission. Supposedly, the Patrian elite were also there to greet the Matrian delegates in the diplomatic relief program—who were being led by Princess Tabitha, and had brought soldiers to help quell the fires and stop the looting. I scowled.

I was certain they were doing just that, and more, trying to buy the good will of the people—at least in the public eye. About what they were doing behind closed doors, I could only make dark assumptions and hazard terrible guesses. The news had disheartened us all, and I could tell the fact that Tabitha was in the country horrified Violet. But on the plus side, Henrik had told me that Maxen had taken to his room all day after reading it.

“Look at you, though,” Violet said to Ashabee, and I wrenched my mind back to the present. “Your black eye is going to tell them that something is going on!”

Ashabee’s fingers found his face, as though testing it, and he flinched slightly, but he was undeterred. “Then I’ll tell them that there are refugees here. They came in the night, and we got into a scuffle before I realized what was going on.”

Violet’s face was diamond-hard as she stared at him. “I still can’t trust you, not after what you did.”

Ashabee scowled back. “Then trust that I will do this for his majesty, and not for you.”

Violet considered this, and then pulled her gun up between their faces. “If you tell them anything,” she whispered, her voice eerie in its coldness, “I will put a bullet in your head, and then in ‘his