The Gender Game 5 by Bella Forrest (top 5 books to read .TXT) 📗

As we came around the sandbags, Ms. Dale reached into her pocket, withdrawing a handkerchief, dabbing her forehead, and then replacing the white cloth. I watched as Amber leaned into Cruz, practically resting her chest against his arms, distracting the man further.

There was no script for this next part, especially for Amber, Ms. Dale, and me—it was more of a gut feeling of when to go. Maybe to Jeff or Cad it seemed they’d missed a message, but in truth, there was none. One minute we were a group on a tour with a famous PFL fighter. The next, our guns were out and pointed.

It took a second for it to register with our targets, which was good, because that gave Cad and Jeff a chance to catch up.

Amber had her gun pressed against Cruz’s temple, and Ms. Dale and I had surged forward toward the guards, our sights trained on them.

I saw one of them reach for her gun and gave her a warning look, tightening my grip on my gun. “Don’t.”

The guard’s hand froze as she took us all in, and then her hand slowly withdrew, rising to the level of her shoulders. The second guard followed suit, her blue eyes growing wide with fear.

“Good,” I said with a tight nod. “Now, each of you reach into your friend’s holster, pull out her gun, and set it slowly on the floor.”

The two women exchanged glances, and then awkwardly reached over each other for their partner’s gun, most likely with their off hands. Good. Awkward meant they wouldn’t try anything.

A few seconds later, the guns were on the floor, and the two women stood before us unarmed. I nodded to Jeff, who moved over and quickly patted them down.

“Clean,” he said after several tense heartbeats.

I nodded and holstered my gun. “Ladies, I am terribly sorry for the inconvenience, but can you please open the door? My associates here are ever so eager to see the control box.”

There was another exchange of glances, and then, reluctantly, one of them pulled out a security badge that dangled from her belt, holding it up to a black sensor box on the wall behind her. There was a beep, followed by a metallic clunk, and Ms. Dale hurried over to the door, pulling it open.

I took in the small room before us as a rush of adrenaline flooded my system. The room seemed strongly utilitarian, with an efficient and orchestrated feel. A line of windows into the stadium below stretched out across the opposite wall. Just in front of them sat a long black control panel, slightly longer than a desk, covered in rows of switches glittering with complicated little lights, sitting just in front of them. The walls were the same gray, but with pipes jutting out, presumably containing cables connecting to corresponding boxes on the control panel. And, currently its most useful feature, the room was empty.

“Inside now, ladies,” I said. The wardens’ eyes were wary, but they followed my orders. One of them—the younger one—was shivering slightly as she slowly went into the room, her head turning back over her shoulder several times to eye the five guns trained on them.

Once they were inside, I moved in, heading right for the control panel. I pulled a long black subvocalizer strip out of one of my pockets and buckled it against my neck, shaking my head against the tingle.

We’re in, I transmitted on our channel to Thomas. But I’m going to need some help with these controls.

A lot of help. I drew a deep breath, taking in the long black box, maybe five feet wide and three feet deep. It was filled with all sorts of blinking lights, gauges, digital readouts, and too many buttons to count. Thomas had better figure this one out, because the rest of us sure couldn’t.

35

Viggo

“One second, one second,” came Thomas’ welcome voice through the earpiece, and I was relieved that he had, in fact, been able to go through with his part of the mission. “Okay. No alarm has been raised that I can see, so you’re good there. Now, what’s your problem?”

This panel is really complicated, I vocalized through the collar. A small sound of discontent, a jingling, turned my head. I nodded, satisfied, when I saw Amber and Ms. Dale were currently on phase two of our plan: stripping the guards of their uniforms. Behind them, Cad and Jeff pushed Cruz, who had a stunned expression plastered on his face, into the room as well, the door swinging shut behind them.

“Ah, yes,” Thomas’ voice came into my ear. “Is there a terminal in the booth?”

My eyes scanned the console, stopping at the built-in monitor display with green lighting all around it.

Yes.

“Good. Go to it and type in what I tell you. I can’t crack this beast if I don’t know what it is.”

I immediately headed over to the attached keyboard.

I’m ready.

In a rapid-fire stream, Thomas began listing out a series of letters, characters, and numbers—too many to count or remember—but I dutifully punched them in while Ms. Dale and Amber changed into the stolen guards’ uniforms behind me, Jeff and Cad redistributing the rest of our hijacked weapons.

“You’re insane.”

The announcement was soft, but carried a heavy load of tension, and I hit enter before turning to face Cruz, who was watching me. His brows were drawn tightly together, a zip tie cinched tightly around his wrists, securing him to one of the pipes running from the walls. The two female wardens sat next to him, looking somewhat less belligerent. I regarded him coolly, shrugged once more, then gave him a little wave before turning back to the computer.

Is that all? I transmitted to Thomas.

There was a long pause. “Huh. That’s interesting.”

What’s interesting? Thomas?

“Oh. Um. Well, it’s not really pertinent, but I think I may have found Tim.”

My heart skipped a beat as I interpreted his words.

Not pertin—? I choked.