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

what drew my gaze was the small corner of the trailer-truck that I could barely see beyond the balcony. It was parked too close to the house for me to see more than that, but it didn’t matter. I strode back to Viggo and the group.

“What if we let Solomon out?” I asked, cutting through their words. Silence met my declaration, and I waited.

“That’s crazy,” Owen whispered, meeting my gaze. “He’s not immune to bullets. And he has no way of distinguishing friend from foe.”

It was crazy—I knew that—but I also knew our plan was predicated upon none of us, not even one person, catching a bullet. Which seemed unlikely, considering the number of guns that we were up against. I hated to think of Solomon getting injured in his unstable state. But there had to be a way we could win this fight.

“How can we even get out there?” Ms. Dale asked—a good question. I took a deep breath and looked over my shoulder, back at the glass wall separating us from the outside.

“I’ll go over the balcony,” I said quietly. “I can stay low on top of the truck, and open it from the top. If I do it right, no one, not even Solomon, will see me.”

“No, Violet,” Viggo said, stepping on my words. “We need you at the stairwell. They’re going to ingress at any moment.”

“But, I—”

“No,” he replied sharply. “You’re still injured. And we can’t afford to lose you on a chance like this.”

Grudgingly, I realized that Viggo was right. Now was not the time to go rushing headlong into some rash idea. Especially not for a wildcard like Solomon—he could get hurt, or he could even hurt one of us.

“We can do it,” chimed in Jay’s voice. I turned to see Jay and Tim, who’d appeared out of the hallway to our left, watching us with grim faces.

Before I could open my mouth to say “no,” I could see the group of people around me responding positively to their idea. Heads were nodding around our little bunch. Viggo looked at me, his eyes assessing, as Ms. Dale murmured to the boys, “You two are probably the best people to do that, given your abilities. We really need all our options.”

“It would keep them out of the brunt of the fighting,” Viggo said, and I let out the breath I had been holding. I couldn’t stop this tide of assent, and time was against us.

“Okay,” I murmured. “Wait until the Matrians have moved in and started their attack. Move fast and don’t let them see you,” I told the boys, my heart heavy at their eager, determined grins. “And whatever you do, stay out of Solomon’s way. Make sure that truck can be closed up again. He isn’t in control of his own actions, and he’s incredibly dangerous.”

Tim and Jay nodded gravely. I hoped, for all of our sakes, that they were taking this seriously.

“Does everyone know what they’re doing and where they are supposed to be?” Viggo asked the rest of the group.

One by one they nodded, the worry, fear, and disagreement draining from their faces as they turned their minds to the task at hand. I bent over, grabbing two extra clips and two rifles from the well-stocked bag Ms. Dale had brought with her. Slinging the straps for both guns over my head, I gave them a tight nod and headed right—opposite of the way the boys had gone. I wished I could be closer to them… I wished I were going in their place… but it wasn’t to be.

Viggo followed me as I headed down the hall, heading deeper into the house and its catacomb of elegant, empty corridors. I paused when I reached the turnoff that would lead me to my set of stairs. His were straight ahead.

“If I don’t get to say it after,” I began to say in a hoarse whisper. I got no further than that—Viggo grabbed me around the waist, pulling me tight against him, his lips on mine, pressing hard, kissing me as if his life depended on it. I couldn’t help lifting my hands to his shoulders and kissing him back, pressing myself into him, until I wasn’t sure where he ended and I began.

And then, too quickly, it was over. He breathed a soft, “Good luck,” into my ear and disappeared down the hallway toward his stairwell. I watched him go for a moment, my cheeks flushed and my lips tingling from his kiss, and then pulled myself together.

I set up at the stairway, lying flat on my belly at the top of the landing, a few feet back so I could see down the narrow passage with a little cover from the angle. These stairs weren’t as dangerous as the main staircase, and I felt a moment of worry for Owen, hoping that he had set up well, that he wouldn’t catch a bullet as a result of all the open space. Mine was a tighter space, partially because it was intended for the servants, partially because it wrapped around. I had a clearer line of sight through the wooden bannister from this angle. The advantage of being able to set up like this, beyond the defensive position, was that, when I braced myself and my gun on the floor, all my left hand had to do was pull the trigger. If the setup had been different, I realized, I was the one who would have had to stay in safety with the refugees.

I’d barely settled into place when I heard the creak of a floorboard below me and to the left. I pulled my rifle up to my shoulder, pulling the bipod legs down to stabilize it, and then waited, my heart thudding hard against my ribcage. For a moment, I considered the fact that I was about to kill a bunch of women, Matrians, my countrywomen, without even giving them a chance to defend themselves.

Until I remembered Warden Nelee’s clinical