The Gender Lie (The Gender Game #3) by Bella Forrest (ebook reader for laptop TXT) 📗

“Then what do you propose I do?” I asked, pausing.

“Find a way to watch one of her meetings. Maybe get into her office and snoop around. See if you can’t find out what she’s doing with the boys.”

“And if I find out her intentions aren’t good?”

A cold hard light glimmered in Ms. Dale’s eyes. “Mr. Croft—Viggo—have you ever assassinated someone before?”

I shook my head. It was hard for me to think about—killing someone in cold blood. I knew I could kill someone in self-defense. I could also kill someone while protecting another person. But cold blood? It felt… wrong. Cowardly and unfair.

“I thought as much. It’s not in your nature, Mr. Croft.” She shifted, straightening her legs. “Which is why, if you do find something out, you’ll need to let me out of here. So I can take… precautions.”

I stared down through the corrugated holes in the floor into the bleak darkness below. “It’s not in my nature to hurt people,” I replied, meeting her gaze head on.

She shrugged. “I could argue that killing her would be protecting people.”

“This feels… wrong, Melissa.”

Her mouth tightened and she gave me a sad look. “You might think so, Mr. Croft,” she whispered. “But go to one of her secret meetings. Find out what she’s telling the boys, and then come back and tell me if you still think it’s wrong.”

I frowned, but nodded. “I’ll… check it out. But beyond that… I am not committing to anything.”

32

Violet

The next night, Viggo and I were creeping quietly along the catwalks. I had an electronic winch on a wheeled cart next to me, and Viggo was carrying several lengths of rope. It was late, and there weren’t many people around.

When we had met up late last night, I had explained what Tim had told me and Viggo had told me about his conversation with Ms. Dale. We’d spent hours going over what we should do, and finally had decided that this was the best course of action.

Earlier in the day, I had met with Tim and asked him to show me where Desmond usually met with the boys. He had led me to the electrical substation and explained, as best he could, that Desmond brought the boys down there to hold discussions and debates in secret.

This had concerned both Viggo and me enough that we had come up with a drastic plan to try to hear what she was telling the boys. That plan included me getting lowered down dozens of feet to listen in through an audio transmitter that Tim would be carrying in his pocket. I didn’t like the idea of putting Tim at risk, but Viggo had insisted that it was the best way.

We had already considered just trying to sneak down the stairs, but it was risky—if the boys were indeed becoming loyal to Desmond, they would alert her to our presence.

I bit my lip as I pulled up the facility blueprints. Desmond had sent them to me to help with the bomb disposal project, and now I couldn’t be more grateful that she had. If I’d needed to ask for them, it would have drawn suspicion over what we were doing.

As it was, I wasn’t so certain that Lynne, a Liberator who worked in the equipment room, had accepted my flimsy excuse when I checked out the winch and rope—I’d explained that Viggo needed it for training—but there wasn’t much to do about that now. The bug I had stolen outright, convinced it was safer to steal, as checking it out officially would raise red flags. Luckily, I had spent more than a few hours in the supply closet, so I’d known exactly what I was looking for.

I studied the map, then moved about ten feet to the left of the door. According to Tim, no one would start showing up for the meeting for another ten minutes, which meant that Viggo would lower me down by the winch, secure the rope to the handrails, and then detach the winch, wheeling it over to Tim’s cell.

I would have twenty minutes from the start of the meeting to listen in. Unfortunately, the transmitter on the bug wasn’t strong enough for both of us to listen from up on the catwalk, hence the need for me to once again lower myself down into the dark pit that waited eagerly beneath our feet.

I checked my watch nervously. “You ready?” I asked as Viggo carefully applied the brakes to the wheels.

Normally, the winch would be flat on the ground and bolted in. We didn’t have time for that, so we were doing this differently. Viggo was going to brace it himself as he lowered me down, and then carefully disconnect the line and tie it off. There would be several seconds where my weight and life would be completely in his hands.

We had discussed leaving the winch there to hold me up, but I was worried it would be noticed. Viggo had expressed his uncertainty about holding my weight—which had led to a really amusing few minutes of me teasing him for calling me fat. He had already regained so much of his strength that I was confident that he had recovered enough, and I had somehow managed to convince him of that.

He was in the process of threading the rope through the machine. “Yeah, ready,” he whispered as he ran the line through the carabiners on my harness. “Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked, his green eyes finding mine.

I swallowed. “Yes. It has to be me. You’re the only one who can support my weight. I can’t support yours.”

He nodded, but I saw a flash of doubt. I gripped his jaw. “I trust you,” I whispered. “And I love you… You can do this.”

Viggo leaned down and kissed me hard. Then I turned slowly and looked down at the pit.

We both can do this.

Viggo took a deep breath