The Gender Game 5 by Bella Forrest (uplifting novels .txt) 📕

to do the same. I’ll call back in, um, twenty-eight hours. If you have need of me before then, send me a message signed by my cousin Tula.” He smiled, pleased at his imaginary cousin’s name, and I couldn’t help but smile back.

“We will do that.”

The screen went dark, indicating he had cut the connection, and Thomas moved back to the equipment, unplugging the wires. I turned to the group and exhaled, running my left hand over my stubbled head.

“All right, so what are we thinking?”

“It’s risky,” Ms. Dale replied. “And there are a lot of obstacles—like Amber said, getting in and out of the city is a pretty big hurdle in and of itself.”

“That is mostly because we have no idea what kind of identification papers are being utilized,” said Thomas as he dropped into the chair behind the computer. “If I could get my hands on one, I might be able to duplicate it.”

“Is there anyone we can send to the city who already has a plausible reason for being there?” I asked, looking at Ms. Dale.

“Actually, any of the wives or Patrian women would be suitable. But it would be better if we sent one from a homestead out here. It would explain why she hadn’t reported in yet—make up some story about the harvest or a vehicle breaking down.”

“Wouldn’t they ask about her husband?” asked Amber. She looked around the room, frowning, as if hearing something silly in her own question, but then she squared her shoulders and continued. “No, I mean, the wardens controlling the city are Matrian, but they aren’t stupid. They will doubt her story a bit if her husband isn’t with her to get his ID.”

Ms. Dale pshawed, waving her hand away. “Please, give me a girl who can cry on command and I can give you a believable story.”

I nodded, a smirk on my lips. “I’m sure you could,” I said. “Well, that just leaves the inside.”

“Jeff seemed confident we could use this Cruz guy to get inside and bypass security,” said Amber.

“Anello Cruz was an underdog,” said Viggo, almost absentmindedly. “No one thought he could take out Rosen, but he did. He was probably just settling into the fame and glory of his position when all this happened. I’m guessing that means he’s still craving fans, in a place where everyone’s biggest concern is for their personal safety.”

“We can work with that,” said Ms. Dale. “We can appear as fans, or even use Mr. Croft in some way—connecting a former fighter to another former fighter. Possibly looking for work?”

Viggo shook his head. “I think it might be risky to use my real name. They’ve probably dragged it through the mud and back. If I go, I’ll have to wear a disguise of some kind.”

Ms. Dale waved her hand again dismissively. “We can figure that out once we have a better way to proceed, but honestly, I do think this holds the seeds of something. If we could just get public opinion to turn against Elena…”

“It could weaken, if not destroy, her hold on Patrus,” announced Owen. I turned, surprised to hear him speaking, and found him standing behind everyone, his arms crossed, his expression turned inward, contemplative and dark. “But is that really going to make a big difference for us? For the boys? All we do is take wild shots and chances, and all they do is recover and hit back—and when they do, they hit us where it hurts. How does this… plan… help us achieve any of our goals?”

I frowned and took a step toward him. “Our goal is to help people,” I reminded him. “Patrians, Matrians—it doesn’t matter at the end of the day, as long as we try.”

Owen lowered his arms and shook his head slowly, as though thinking out loud. “Wouldn’t it help more people, ultimately, if we went straight to the top? Maybe we should stop focusing on symptoms of the problem and go straight for the cause. Elena or Desmond, it doesn’t matter which one, but that’s who we should be going after. Finish things once and for all.”

Behind me, I sensed Viggo straightening up, but it was Amber who spoke. “What are you proposing?” she asked.

Owen met my gaze, and then looked away, shifting slightly. “What if we give Desmond what she asked for?” he said hoarsely. “We do like Violet did: tell her about the real egg, offer her Maxen… or maybe even Violet, as bait. We just need something to tell Desmond. Something to draw her in close enough to put a bullet in her head.” His eyes were suddenly glued to my face, as though pleading with me. “Then we could make sure she never hurts any of them again. Then we could… we could protect them.”

I gaped at Owen, understanding the dark place in his mind this was coming from. Sometimes I had wanted just such an outcome so badly I could taste it. But we’d already chosen not to do things that brutally unless we were forced. Even if it was only one possible option, the thought of offering myself up again was almost nauseating. A wave of dizziness assaulted me as I thought about the last time I had done that, the twisted images of losing my fight with Tabitha—badly—coursing through me, taking me back to the worst moments.

“We are not doing that,” said Ms. Dale, a note of finality in her voice. “Nobody is being used as bait again. It’s too unpredictable, and it’s certainly not humane.” I almost sagged in relief as I heard her say it; then I felt a surge of guilt, as though cowardice had a flavor and I suddenly tasted it on my tongue. Could I save the boys by sacrificing myself? But at the same time, a more rational part of my mind protested as well. While Tabitha had been evil, she had also been exploitable. Her temper and arrogance had often gotten the better of her, and