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

I could possibly give. He had saved my life, multiple times. I had betrayed him, and he had chosen to forgive me. He had given me his trust and his compassion. I might not be ready to admit it yet, but I was in love with Viggo Croft. I couldn’t let him die.

A flash of irritation danced across her face. “This isn’t a game, Violet,” she said.

“I know that, Melissa,” I replied. “We all owe him our lives, even you. He carried you for miles with red flies chasing us. So get to work.”

She hesitated for a split second, and then nodded, sinking back to her knees. “You’ll need more blood patches, a bandage, portable scanner, cauterizer…”

I listened as she listed off items, making a mental check list. As she wound down, I was already heading toward the door.

“Don’t let him die before I get back,” I called as I left.

I ran. It was five flights of stairs and four levels up and down. I was exhausted, bruised, likely had a concussion, broken ribs, and emotionally damaged.

None of it mattered though—not with Viggo’s life on the line. I made good time up the stairs, in spite of my lungs burning and sweat pouring from me with exertion. It was pain and pain was good at the moment—it was helping to keep me on my feet, in spite of my exhaustion.

I reached the last landing and stepped through the open door, my mind intent on finding what I needed.

Rushing to the cabinets, I threw them open and began tossing item after item on to the bed. I ran through the list Ms. Dale gave me, taking extra care to make sure that I got everything she asked for, and then some.

I wiped sweat off my face with the back of my hand. Carefully, I arranged the items on the bed, listing them off to double check that they were there. After a moment’s pause, I carefully gathered the corners of the bedsheet, making a makeshift bag.

I tied the corners together tight, to ensure that they didn’t bounce around when I ran. A few of the more delicate items I held, not wanting them to break. After making sure one more time I had grabbed everything I needed, I carefully heaved the bag over my shoulder.

It was heavy, but not too heavy that I couldn’t handle it. Running wasn’t going to be a problem, hopefully.

Once again, I was feeling the clock ticking down, pressure mounting in me to do something. I stepped out into the hall and moved toward the door leading to the stairs. I stepped over the threshold, and took a deep breath.

Then I began to run. I began slowly at a light jog. My makeshift bag bounced against my back, but nothing inside it shifted out of place. I took the stairs two or three at a time, my heart already pounding in my chest.

Something was nagging me at the back of my mind—something I had overlooked—but I couldn’t put my finger on it.

I raced through the living quarters and through the door to the next staircase, my mind whirling. The nagging sensation intensified, and I felt a spike of fear and anxiety.

I tried to push it away, but the hair on the back of my neck was standing on end as I entered the common greenhouse. I slowed down and came to a stop in the middle of the room.

Looking around, I couldn’t see anything out of place. Yet I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. I turned around, staring back at the way I’d come. The door was open, and I couldn’t see anything lurking on the stairwell.

Frowning, I half turned back to resume running when I paused. Looking back, I stared at the door, suddenly confused.

The door leading to the stairwell down was open. I blinked, trying to process the implications of that. The door automatically closed after a few seconds, sealing itself—likely to keep each level secure in case of a breach. It took me a second to remember that the door from the stairs to the first level had been open as well. So had the one from the second level into the stairs. The door at the bottom of the stairs had been torn off, but the one on the opposite side was standing wide open.

The only way to keep the door open was to prop it that way. But from where I was standing, I couldn’t see anything keeping it from closing. I could examine it closer, but my instincts were telling me that was a bad idea.

In fact, my instincts were telling me that I was in great danger. I looked to the door on the other side of the room, surprised to find it open as well.

I hesitated. I remembered opening them on my way up. Maybe the system was broken somehow? The fight between Viggo and Marina had caused damage in the lab—maybe something had been damaged, and now the doors weren’t self-closing.

That didn’t explain the door I hadn’t opened on the top level though. Licking my lips, I decided the best course of action was to head downstairs and get back to the others, quickly and quietly.

I took a step toward the door. A small sound behind me of another footstep hitting the ground seconds after mine spurred me into motion.

I ran, grasping the bag bouncing on my back with a sweaty hand. I didn’t even look back—whether it was paranoia or there was something else in here with us—I knew I had to get to the others fast.

I leapt through the threshold, grabbing the handrail and using it to make a quick course change. I heard the footsteps behind me now, racing after me, and my heart picked up speed. I cleared the first landing, practically leaping down the next.

The door in front of me was closed, and I grabbed the hand wheel, spinning it hard, panic giving me adrenaline and speed.

Then something struck me