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

the one I wanted. They squealed and shuddered beneath us as I lost control and we spun out.

I slammed on the brakes, my legs jerking, barely able to see the courtyard we’d entered flying by. For a dizzying second, I was convinced the little car was going to tip over—two of the wheels lifting off the ground and throwing us sideways as we spun. Then they slammed down, bouncing once, and the vehicle skidded to a complete stop. The engine backfired and then died with a shuddering cough.

I sat frozen for a moment, my hands still clenched on the wheel. My breathing was ragged in my ears, and I realized I was sweating. It took me a heartbeat to realize we were still very much alive. Looking over, I saw Owen, his face completely bloodless, looking down at his body as if surprised it was still intact.

We met each other’s eyes, staring, and then I felt a huffing laugh come from my throat. Owen stared at me blankly for a second, and then a smile broke across his lips. I gave a little shout of exhalation, clapping him on the shoulder. He nodded at me, still dazed, but with some of the color returning to his face.

The thought filtered through my head that we should have been dodging bullets by now. My laughter came to an abrupt stop when I became aware of the scene outside the window. The first courtyard was thoroughly gutted. Black scorch marks cut across the walls and ground. Innumerable fires, from tiny flames the size of my hand to blazes the size of the car, burned everywhere. I could see the inside of what I remembered to be a guard post, because it looked like a giant hand had torn away half of the building. Remains of vehicles, men, and buildings lay strewn across the ground, and the top of the building across from us, which normally stood between the first courtyard and the inner one, had crumbled completely.

It was worse than I’d imagined. So much worse. My only hope was that Violet had been the one to cause such damage… not the one on the receiving end. I was still staring at it, awestruck and horrified, when I saw a flash of movement amidst the destruction. My eyes narrowed, trying to peer through the smoke and debris, and I turned in time to see a man emerge from behind the smoking remains of a truck to the left of us, thirty feet away. He leveled his gun at us.

“Get out of the vehicle,” he ordered, loudly enough that we could hear through the windows.

I exchanged a look with Owen. His voice was sharp, his eyes trained on the warden, as he said, “Start the car.”

My fingers were already twisting the key. The engine wheezed and sputtered, but did not turn over. I looked at Owen, then tried again, stomping on the gas.

“Start the damn car, Viggo!” he repeated as the warden stepped closer, repeating his order loudly.

“Stop yelling at me! I’m trying!” I snapped, twisting the key again, and Owen fell silent.

I looked back up in time to see several more wardens coming toward us, picking their way across the debris-littered courtyard. I swallowed hard as the man in front of us waved them over. Beside me, I heard the mechanical click as Owen locked the car’s doors.

I turned and gave him an incredulous look. “Really?”

He gave a tight little shrug. “Can’t hurt, can it?”

I had just opened my mouth to reply when the wardens opened fire. The automatic fire was loud even through the glass, and I ducked down under the window, hands over my head, as the noise of the bullets hitting the car blasted around us, just waiting for shattering glass to explode around us. Owen did the same, until we were pressed almost nose to nose, the sound of metal on metal pinging all around us.

“What do we do?” Owen shouted over the deafening gunfire.

“I don’t know,” I replied honestly. I paused as the gunfire died, the silence swallowing the sound as if it had never occurred. Owen gave me a confused look. I waited for the attack to start again, and when it didn’t, I slowly sat up.

The windows were unbroken. I met the confused gaze of the wardens outside, and smiled. “Owen—looks like they’re bulletproof,” I said, twisting the key once again.

He sat upright and looked around. “Nice,” he said, an identical smile on his face. His knuckles rapped gently on the glass of his window. “Remind me to send Ashabee a thank you note.”

I chuckled and then turned the key more gently this time, hoping that a stray bullet hadn’t damaged anything important. Although, based on the white streaks I could see on the hood, just marring the vehicle’s paint job, there didn’t appear to be any denting at all. This little thing was tough as nails. The only problem with it was that it wouldn’t start.

But that problem would be a big one pretty damn soon.

The engine whined again, carrying over to a repetitive chuffing sound. It almost caught, but died again.

I bit off a curse and hit the wheel. “C’mon, you piece of—”

“Viggo—you gotta see this.” I turned to Owen, who had been digging in the back of the car for a gun but was now pointing out the windshield to our right. I followed his finger to where a warden was trying to approach stealthily, moving in and out of the broken bits of building, vehicles, and debris piles. I squinted, noting the long gray tube he was cradling in his hands.

“That’s a grenade launcher,” I exclaimed softly.

Owen met my gaze. “Do you think the car can withstand a—”

“Best not to find out,” I cut in, turning back to the wheel. The hair on the back of my neck was not only standing, but practically vibrating with tension as I placed my hand on the wheel. “Please,” I begged under my breath. I exhaled