The Gender War (The Gender Game #4) by Bella Forrest (the beginning after the end read novel .TXT) 📕

I bit my lip, deep in thought. “We need rope or something to restrain us, so it’ll look more convincing.”

“The Porteque gang will have that,” Owen supplied, approaching with a grim nod.

“Won’t they wonder why we aren’t restrained?”

“You’ll have to pretend to be unconscious, I think,” Owen replied. “We can say the job got botched—we managed to drug you, but we lost the man who carried the restraints. It’s flimsy, but it’ll have to do.”

I sighed but nodded. It was a thin sketch of a plan, but it was the best we had at the moment.

“Okay,” I said. “Let’s get going.”

9

Viggo

The air was still as I stood beside Owen, watching the lights of the approaching vehicle growing brighter in the night. When it trundled near us, I could see that the truck was massive, meant for hauling heavy loads of mechanical parts, with a two-person cab and huge, heavy-duty off-roading tires. The extra-long bed’s carrying capacity had been increased by the addition of a tall metal frame that rose several feet above the cab. A thick black canvas tarp was stretched over the frame to protect—or conceal—the cargo. It was a fairly standard modification on trucks like this, but the wardens I’d worked with had always called them ‘kidnapping vehicles’ for a reason.

I wasn’t sure whether I was glad that Owen’s contacts had come through so quickly—there might have been a better way to do this, but at least this way was fast. Violet and Ms. Dale had crouched down in a nearby copse of trees, waiting to be carried, ‘unconscious,’ onto the scene when we signaled to them; Tim and Jay stayed with them to do the carrying. I was less than sure about this plan, but it was happening. Desmond’s team—whoever they were—had a head start on us, and we needed to make every second count.

I stood behind Owen. He was the most familiar with them, so it would be better if he did all the talking. Not to mention, I loathed the Porteque gang. I was far more likely to shoot them than to have anything useful to say.

I also had to hope that none of them recognized me right away.

Owen held up a hand as the vehicle coming toward us pulled to a stop. The engine cut off, but they left the lights on to glare in our faces. As I watched, six large men climbed out, wearing clothes with various levels of shabbiness—two from the cab of the truck, and four from the back. When they approached, I could see the familiar black triangles underneath one of each of their eyes, and I tamped down a surge of fury.

“Hey, Peter,” Owen said to one of the approaching members, holding his hand out.

The man who had gotten out of the driver’s seat, a burly guy with a long, greasy blond ponytail and a goatee, stepped up to Owen, grabbing his hand with a firm shake. “Hey, Sam,” he replied. “Where’s the rest of your team? And… who’s the new guy?” He stared at me, and I inclined my head toward him, trying to conceal my seething glare.

“It’s a long story, my friend. Let’s just say we had a bit of a botched job. Oh, and this is Alfred.”

My face reflected nothing, but Owen’s choice of cover identities definitely left something to be desired. I held out my own hand and gave what I hoped passed as a congenial smile, rather than a baring of teeth. “Friends and associates call me Fred,” I stated as Peter took my hand in his. “I’m new.”

“Yeah,” Peter said wryly. “I gathered.”

We released the handshake, and Peter turned back to Owen. “Any heat we need to be worried about with this botched job?”

Owen shook his head. “No—I left one of my guys behind to clean it up, so none of it will fall back on you. But we had to step up our timeline because of it. That’s why this call was so last-minute. I’m glad you could make it.”

“Boss,” one of the other men, a smaller guy with narrow eyes and a tight, turned-down moustache, said behind him, but Peter waved a dismissive hand at him. My gaze passed over him once and then snapped back. Something about him looked… I didn’t want to say it, even to myself… familiar.

“In a minute,” Peter said to the man, clearly irritated. “Well, Sam, I hate to say it, but that means you’re going to have to pay more.”

“Well, I hate to say this too, Peter—but I’m clean out. This job… it went down pretty bad, and a lot of our stuff went missing. But don’t worry, I’ll be able to get you double the amount through our usual contact soon.”

Peter’s affable expression tightened. “Double? When?”

Owen gave an exasperated tsk. “Soon enough for you. Peter, please, trust me. How long have we been in business together, man?”

“Boss,” called the same man, his narrow eyes glittering at me.

“I’m working up here, man. Tell me in a minute.” Peter rolled his eyes at Owen, who smiled back amiably. He considered Owen for a long moment as he rubbed the back of his neck, fiddling with his ponytail. “I can’t do it, man. You’ve been good for business, sure, but I can’t smuggle you in with some vague promise of—”

At this point, the man behind Peter lost his patience. “Boss, you’re gonna want to hear this.”

Peter’s jaw clenched in irritation. He gave Owen a long, hard stare. “Excuse me for a second,” he said to Owen before whirling on his heel and stalking back to the man, who urged him farther away from us, standing in the truck’s headlights.

I leaned in close to Owen. “Do you know what’s going on?” I asked, keeping my voice low.

Owen shook his head, his face tight. “Not sure, but it isn’t good.”

Peter turned back toward us, and this time his eyes lingered on me, giving me a long, appraising look. I smiled with mock