The Gender Fall (The Gender Game #5)

“And then the palace happened,” I said, following Desmond’s train of thought. “Tell me, did Elena shed a tear over the loss of her little sister? How was her speech? I bet it was suitably heartfelt and filled with overused clichés.”

The woman’s voice in my ear soured the slightest bit. “You’d better watch your tone, Mr. Croft. Otherwise this conversation will end before I have a chance to explain its purpose, and you will learn, in terrible and frightening ways, how much I can hurt you.”

“What do you want, Desmond?” I asked, struggling to keep my tone neutral. I hated this feeling—the feeling I was a mouse with a cat crouching directly behind me, set to attack.

She sighed, a heavy, disapproving sound coming through the speakers. “You really do have poor conversation skills.”

“I’ll work on that.”

“I very much doubt you’ll have time, Mr. Croft. Not that you don’t have a future, mind you. It’s just already filled with unimaginable torment. You haven’t even begun to scratch the surface of what the queen and I are capable of doing.”

“Like with the boys?” My eyes were trained on the subject in question. He was still breathing heavily.

“Clever man. And, yes, the boys. Did you know what amazing specimens they are? They really are impressive. Their strength and stamina are off the charts. Take the boy who followed you, for example: he ran forty-eight point six miles without stopping. I could order him to keep running, too, and he would do it. He would do it until he dropped dead, his tiny little heart unable to cope with the strain.”

I had no immediate answer to that. I took in a sharp, biting breath, red flashing across my vision, realizing my fists had clenched so hard my nails dug into my palms. I ground my teeth together and risked a glance over to Owen and Ms. Dale. Ms. Dale was already moving toward Dr. Arlan—I could almost see her plan forming. I turned back to the boy standing before us, his eyes empty, his chest heaving, as Desmond continued.

“I could make him fight you, you know. Have him take you all on. I’m not sure how he’d fare against you and Ms. Dale in his condition, but I’m betting it wouldn’t matter. The strain alone would probably end him. Should I do that, Viggo? The young man’s heart-rate is well above the norm, even after standing idly for a few minutes. Should I make him fight you until his heart explodes?”

Sick to my stomach, I closed my eyes, knowing I still had not said a word in response to this new, mind-numbingly cruel threat. When I opened them, I wasn’t any less angry. I spat the words through my teeth, vehement and raw:

“For the last damn time, Desmond, what do you want?!”

Desmond chuckled, low and husky. “I see I’ve struck a nerve. Good, because I want you to pay close attention to this next part. You asked me what I want, and it is this. The queen and I are willing to make a deal with you, Mr. Croft. You and your merry band of disillusioned rebels.”

“What sort of deal?”

“Simply this: King Maxen and Violet. If you deliver those two to us, we are prepared to hand over the boys, a small plot of farmable land, and a promise you and those who have joined you will be spared. You will be free to raise the boys as you see fit with no interference from us… Well, barring a few minor exceptions.”

It was hard to speak the next words over the snarl of rage fighting to escape my throat, but I knew I had to keep her talking. “What exceptions?”

“The boys will need to be used for breeding purposes, Mr. Croft. Their gifts need to be passed on to the populace in order to achieve Elena’s goal of creating an enhanced people. Now, unfortunately, I know you well enough to know you will never agree. Not with Violet’s life on the line. It’s too personal for you. But would Violet? Or your friends? Two lives in exchange for a thousand… Such a small price to pay. I’ll let you mull it over. In the meantime… Subject 984… Kill them all!”

The boy’s head snapped up. I snatched the earpiece out of my ear and tossed it aside, spreading my arms and dropping into a fighting stance. He moved right toward me—I was closest to him, after all. “Please tell me you have a sedative,” I shouted over my shoulder to somebody, anybody.

There was no time to listen for a response, as the boy blurred into motion. I barely had a chance to brace for impact when he collided into me. I fell on my back, only my reflexes sparing me from hitting my head hard. The breath escaped my lungs and my vision blipped black for a moment, but I managed to wrap my hand around his arm.

I remained calm, knowing that, while my body was panicking, sure it was dying from lack of oxygen, I would actually be fine. Still, it didn’t stop my lungs from contracting as I wheezed, trying to force air in and out. The boy pulled back a fist, moving faster than I could track, and struck me in the face.

My teeth clacked together, and my ears rang—but I had sustained worse punches in the fighting ring. I twisted my neck back toward him just in time to see the blur that meant he’d drawn his fist back again. Grunting, I rolled over, dragging him with me by the arm, partially pinning him with my body. He was fast, I realized deliriously, but he was still only as strong as a preteen boy.

“That sedative would be real nice right now!” I yelled, trying to pin the boy down as he struggled against me. I clutched one of his wrists, but the other was free, and the boy’s fist hit me in the chest multiple times as I tried to capture it. “Calm down,” I grunted.