The Gender End (The Gender Game #7)

I raced for the gun, sliding painfully to my knees in my desperation to get to her. Elena had regained her footing and was looking warily around. Her thermal goggles were no longer on her head, and I hoped they’d gotten knocked off in the fighting.

Every instinct in my body was screaming in alarm. I had to kill her—I had to. If I didn’t, she would kill all of us one by one. There was no reasoning with her; her mental state was rapidly deteriorating, and if she killed us, there would be no one stopping her from killing every man—every person—who remained in Patrus.

I raised my hand, bracing it, and took aim, my hand steady and my heart sure—when Tim reappeared again. Once again he was in the air, a kick directed at the queen, but she blurred, and the next thing I knew Tim was flying toward me.

I stood to catch him, but he hit a few feet ahead of me with a thud. I met Elena’s eyes as I raced forward to him, my heart in my throat at how still my brother was. She smirked, and then beat me to him, using her enhanced speed to get there, her enhanced strength to haul him up by the throat, and… after what I had just seen… her enhanced reflexes to dodge the bullet I sent flying at her in a panicked rage.

“Put him down,” I screamed, fear grasping at my heart as my little brother’s legs kicked in midair, a choked sound escaping him.

“Oh, all right then!” Elena smiled, and stepped back toward the side of the building, keeping Tim between us. I shifted, circling to try to draw a bead on her, but every time I did, she would reposition him so that he was between us. Tim frantically clawed at her wrist, trying to break her grip, but I could tell his strength was fading.

“DON’T!” I cried, my heart breaking as she brought him ever closer to the edge. “PLEASE!”

I was begging, and I hated myself for it, but I couldn’t let her kill my brother. I would go crazy.

“Violet, I’m just doing what you asked,” she taunted cruelly. “I’m going to put him down, and then I’m going to rip your throat out and bathe in the blood!”

I squeezed a shot off, going for her foot, desperate to stop her. But I missed, and she flung my brother to one side—right over the edge of the building. I saw him falling and screamed, firing wildly. Elena blurred, dodging the bullets.

The gun was knocked out of my hand with such force that I spun around, my arm aching and throbbing angrily, reminding me that it had been broken until recently, and then what hair I had was yanked sharply in a fist as Elena started to drag me over to the edge.

“Time to join your little brother,” she crooned as she hefted me up by my hair. The pain was agonizing, but not as awful as the look on her face as she gazed at me. “Goodbye, Violet,” she said, her grin turning victorious.

I grabbed her wrist, trying to break her grasp—or hold on, or take her down with me—as she swung me around. Then, suddenly, she stumbled back, and I fell to my feet again, only inches from the edge of the roof. Dazed, my head throbbing, I looked over to see someone on Elena’s back, holding her firmly across the chest and then hauling the surprised woman back to the edge.

Ms. Dale gave me a wan smile—her face pale and covered in blood—and I saw the detonator in her hand as she tipped Elena and herself over the edge.

“Some people deserve to die,” she said, and then they were gone.

I raced over to the edge, needing to stop it, but the force of the explosion that came a moment later drove me back several feet, my hand going up to shield me from the flames. I fell to my knees.

Tim, Thomas, and Ms. Dale were all gone—I had no idea where Viggo was—and our plan with Alyssa was in tatters. Everything welled up in me like a tidal wave of anguish. I began to sob, uncontrolled, unable to see anything, my own gasping, choking breaths the only sound I could hear.

Hands pressed against my back, surprising me, and I jerked back, turning to see… Tim. His hands were scraped up, his throat already ringed with bruises from Elena’s hand, but he was there… alive and whole.

“Tim… how?” I breathed as he sank down beside me.

“Easy. I grab wall. You okay?”

There was a shout on the roof, and I turned to see a flood of wardens racing through the doors like bees swarming from a hive. I had no fight left in me. We had no exit plan. Slowly, wearily, I began raising my hands.

“Ms. Dale…” I said softly.

Then the guards were there, and apparently they weren’t taking any chances. The last thing I saw as they drew near was the butt of a rifle, aiming for my head. Then I saw nothing.





43





Violet





I opened my eyes and then immediately closed them, the obnoxious bright white light causing my head to throb. Lifting my hands to block it out, I heard someone say, “She’s awake,” and slowly tried to sit up, in spite of everything.

Letting my face flop into my hands, I winced and pulled my hand away from the tender area on the right side of my head.

“What’s happening?” I asked, trying to peel back my mutinous eyelids.

I finally succeeded, and was greeted by three walls comprised of bars, concrete ceiling, and floor. The awful white light filled the cell from overhead.

“Violet, baby?” I turned toward Viggo’s voice like a thirsty person hearing the sound of running water. He was peering at me through a set of bars that separated us, his hands wrapped around them. The weight of his concern for me was pressed into the lines of his face, and without even thinking about it, I twisted on the cot I found myself on and reached for him.

“What happened?” I asked, relieved as my fingers stroked over his.

He reached out and grabbed my hand, pulling it through to his side of the bars and pressing it to his lips.

“I don’t know,” he replied, moving closer to me. “But everyone’s here.”

Everyone who’s left, I found myself thinking, and I swallowed and looked around. Sure enough, there was Owen, Amber, Logan, and Tim—all ensconced in cells like mine.

Tim was the first team member my eyes sought after Viggo, and I immediately noticed the dark purple bruises on his face and neck, so purple they looked like they had been painted on. He waved at me as I noticed him, and I waved back, offering him a nebulous smile.

Owen sat across the hall from Tim. His face was scratched, and there were bandages on his side and shoulder. He sat with the wall at his back, his expression unfocused, lost in thought. He blinked after a few moments and looked over at me, offering a tremulous smile of his own, but he looked downtrodden and raw. I could tell he was hurting over Thomas, and felt my own pain flaring up in my chest in response to his.

Amber was pacing the tight confines of her cell looking extremely frustrated, and I noticed she was favoring one side, as if the other side of her body were bruised and tender. There was also a dark bruise forming around her left eye, causing it to squint almost shut.