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

image would have just popped up at any inopportune moment. “Just goes to show that we all can’t fall for that Matrian propaganda,” I teased.

She blew out a sharp breath as her eyes narrowed at me. “Shall we compare the literature, Mr. Croft?” she asked, and I smiled, relieved that somewhere under all this vulnerability, the woman with hard edges was still there.

“Not today,” I replied wryly. “But… are you feeling better, at least?”

She sniffed, dabbing her eyes again with that tattered tissue, and nodded. “I’ll pull through,” she whispered, and I felt my heart break a little. On impulse, I wrapped my arm around her, and placed a kiss on her forehead.

“Good,” I replied, letting her go. She was looking at me in confusion and wonder as her fingers touched the place my lips had just been. “I’d be lost without you, you old bird,” I added.

Ms. Dale narrowed her eyes again, but I could see an amused gleam surfacing there. She blotted her eyes once more, and, no longer able to stand her using the same abused piece of tissue, I opened one of the nearby drawers and pulled out a napkin, handing it to her.

“Thank you,” she said, dropping the wad of tissue on the table.

I nodded and crossed my arms, taking her in and deciding that now it might be helpful to move on to less sensitive topics. “How are the preparations going?” I asked.

Ms. Dale had volunteered to go on today’s recon mission—she was going to check out a location that Ashabee had recommended before he was taken. He had claimed it was an abandoned farm about two hours away. It was supposedly isolated and difficult to find, so we were hoping to use it for a base.

Ms. Dale straightened her back and nodded, some of her old confidence flowing back into her. “They’re going okay—I’ve got a few people willing to go with me, and they’re loading up some extra fuel and food into the truck. I figure two hours out, two to three hours to make sure the area is viable, another two hours back.”

I nodded again. “I was thinking of going out on a recon mission as well,” I admitted. “Did you get to see Ashabee’s secret stash of weapons yet?”

“Oh, did I.” There—another gleam of Ms. Dale’s old self. “I think we could run several revolutions with all that equipment.”

I sighed darkly. “Let’s hope we don’t have to. Anyway, Violet’s busy packing, but Owen and I are probably going to take one of those smaller, less conspicuous cars out for a test drive and see if we can spot any more groups of refugees before they head our way. And if we go the opposite direction from you, we can watch out for possible new locations in that area, too.”

“Efficient,” Ms. Dale noted. “And an excellent way to get out of this house for a while.” I knew she was thinking of her own mission as well as mine.

We sat there in comfortable silence for a little while longer. “I should be going,” she said finally, sighing a bit. “One can only cry in the corner for so long.”

I looked her in the eye. “Be careful, okay?”

Ms. Dale gave me a smile as she slowly eased herself up from the table. “Did you know I was never in this much danger until I met you? No? Must be a coincidence.” Her tone was light and airy.

I chuckled then, unable to stop myself as I felt the familiar stinging presence of my old enemy-turned-friend finally returning. It was a nice moment of normality, one I desperately needed.

And from the look of it, one that Ms. Dale needed as well. I just hoped I had cheered her up a little bit. If it was the only thing I wound up accomplishing today, then it would be worth it just to chase away her tears, if only for a moment.

30

Violet

A couple hours after my conversation with Owen, here I was again, back in the kitchen. Still organizing food, although, thrillingly, I’d moved on from cans to packaged starches. Viggo had pecked me on the cheek a little over an hour ago, announcing that with Tim, Jay, and Jeff overseeing the refugees, Ashabee’s staff supervising the king, and Thomas manning the security system—and, of course, me there to hold everybody together—he and Owen felt okay about taking one of Ashabee’s cars out on a short scouting mission of their own.

I hadn’t argued. We couldn’t exactly spare Viggo and Owen from our defenses if there was an attack, but at the same time, the quicker we found a place to relocate, the quicker we could move. If Viggo and Owen found a suitable place before Ms. Dale did, the risk would be worth it. My mental timer of how long we had before the Matrians returned was quickly running out, and I was anxious. If worst came to worst, I figured, all of us could hole up in Ashabee’s secret room, where we might easily escape notice, and defend ourselves for days if we were found.

And after all we had gone through in this house in the last forty-eight hours, it made me happy to see Viggo excited again, even if it was just about getting to drive one of Ashabee’s high-tech vehicles. It was good to see Viggo turning his mind forward—keeping busy was the best way to keep from dwelling on what was lost. His robotic mannerisms still lingered, but getting away from the house would help, I hoped. After giving his motorcycle to Amber, he could use another distraction.

I was most of the way through the extensive ‘rice’ section of my inventory when Tim rushed in, his eyes wide. “Amber here,” he announced. I stalled, food package in hand, and turned toward him, wondering if I’d heard him correctly.

“Amber? She’s… here?” I repeated. That didn’t make the slightest bit of sense. She and Quinn were