The Gender Lie (The Gender Game #3) by Bella Forrest (i have read the book a hundred times .txt) 📕

hissed as the cold water seeped into my clothes. It came just past my knees, so it wasn’t terrible. However, my mind was racing at all the possible diseases in the pool, and I just hoped I’d have access to a shower soon.

Owen extended a hand to Amber, helping her up, and then offered me one as well. I accepted it, and climbed up next to him. After we were all standing on the concrete island, Owen crossed over to the door.

He proceeded to knock twice, then once, then twice again, a pronounced pause between raps. Immediately the door swung open, revealing a man with a bushy brown beard and a balding head.

“Took you long enough,” the man said, annoyance in his voice.

I studied him closely. He was shorter than Owen, and pudgy, wearing slacks that were slightly too big and a shirt that was slightly too small. Everything about him seemed disproportionate—from his small ears to his big mouth. Even his eyes were small, and they had a rat-like quality.

The man looked at me and skirted back a few feet. “Who is that? That’s no man. Far too short, and lacking an Adam’s apple! Why’d you bring a new girl here? You’re supposed to tell me before you bring new people!”

Owen held up his hands. “Thomas, this is Violet. She’s going to help us with this mission. Violet, this is Thomas, and he owns all the cameras in Patrus.”

Thomas squinted at me, studying me from top to bottom. I offered a little wave, and he gave a sharp huff, before whirling around and disappearing into the room behind him. Owen offered me a shrug before following.

Everyone filed in past me, leaving me standing there for several seconds with a stunned look on my face before following suit.

8

Violet

The interior of the room where Thomas led us was much more luxurious than I had anticipated. The door opened into a short hall, which then opened up into a massive room. Large screens hung from three of the four walls, curving inward and around. Various images of people blinked in and out across the screens, presumably camera feeds that had been patched directly into the room.

In the center of it all was a long table containing three computers and a single chair. Against the walls was a mismatched assortment of chairs and sofas. There were doors to the left and right leading into two separate rooms—storage rooms, it seemed, gauging from what I could make out through the narrow vertical windows cut into the doors.

Thomas twisted around and gave an imperious tilt of his head. “This stuff is more important than you, so don’t touch any of it,” he announced.

I widened my eyes at Thomas’ hostile tone and gaze, but Amber paid no notice. “Surely you don’t mean me, Thomas,” she crooned.

“Especially you,” came Thomas’ dry reply, and everyone burst out laughing. Amber clapped Thomas on the back before trapping him in a hug. He struggled for a few seconds, his face growing red, before eventually relenting to Amber’s hug.

“It’s good to finally meet you,” Quinn said to Thomas after the hug was finished. He extended a hand, and Thomas wrinkled his nose at it before taking an index finger between two fingers, shaking it, and dropping it just as quickly.

“Quinn,” he said, his tone stiff. I hid a smile by turning around, busying myself with taking off the bag I was carrying. Carefully, I peeled off my goatee and began sliding out of my jacket, shirt, and padding. I could hear the exchange of conversation behind me, little snippets of familiarity that reminded me of my outsider status.

“Still working the mines, huh, Mole?” came Solomon’s deep baritone.

“I have asked you repeatedly not to call me that, Solomon,” replied Thomas, his higher-pitched voice containing a barely concealed impatient sound.

“Oh, come on, Thomas,” Amber said, her voice filled with a teasing note. “All you do is work in this hole and you barely see anyone! We have to keep you socialized, or else you’ll go off the deep end and destroy the city.”

“Amber, that is a statistical improbability on all fronts—do you know how much Semtex it would take to destroy the entire city? No? Well, the answer is far more astronomical than you could guess.”

I had just stepped out of my pants and padding as he said that, and I whirled around. “You… you haven’t really made the calculation on how much explosive it would take to blow up the city… have you?”

Everyone froze and Thomas cocked his head at me, studying me behind the lenses of his spectacles. He pushed them up the bridge of his nose. “As a matter of fact, I have,” he said, his voice flat and even.

I could feel everyone’s gaze fall on me, waiting for my response. “But why?” I asked, not sure why anyone in their right mind would want to do that.

Thomas gave a small shrug. “Because I like math problems,” he replied.

My jaw slackened as I took in the diminutive man in front of me. Everything about him—from his pudgy middle to his balding head—seemed so non-threatening that it was hard for me to wrap my head around his answer.

I transferred my gaze to Owen, who chuckled. “Thomas is good at what he does, Violet. He’s a strategist.”

Thomas nodded several times, reminding me of an over-eager child searching for his parents’ praise.

“I… see…” I replied, uncertain of what else I could say.

Thomas and I eyed each other warily until Owen clapped his hands together. “Thomas, could you please bring us up to speed on the information you’ve gathered about the facility?”

Thomas moved to his workstation while the rest of us huddled close. He started clicking a few keys on the keyboard when he froze. “Do you mind?” he asked, and we all backed off. Solomon and Quinn busied themselves with dragging a few chairs over from near the walls, while Amber began to follow my lead and strip out