The Gender Fall (The Gender Game #5)

“Of course I was! I was lucky enough to survive, but many of those fighters were my friends. I…” He trailed off, his voice becoming soft. “Well, I do miss them.”

Ms. Dale patted his hand sympathetically as we came to the second checkpoint, this one guarding the main stairs to the third story. It had the same basic setup as before, but this time, there were half a dozen women in the checkpoint area. I felt my breath catch in my throat as they looked at us—there were a lot of them to take on at once! —but after a cursory glance, we were waved on. Cruz continued to drone on as we moved, heading to the steps.

It was all I could do to pretend I was even remotely interested in what he was saying. I was just glad Amber and Ms. Dale were there. They kept him distracted, asking questions here and there about the stadium and its history. All I could do was think about every shadowed nook and cranny and calculate how quickly I could get to the gun pressed against the small of my back.

We came up the final landing of stairs and headed right, moving toward the next checkpoint. This one separated us from the control room. My eyes noted the sign for emergency exit 3C, which had an arrow pointed down the hallway, and I exhaled. We were on the opposite side of the stadium now, as far away as we could get from the hospital. Deep into hostile territory with what felt like an army between us and our borrowed getaway car. I prayed we had made the right choice with this mission, because if we hadn’t, we would all be dead soon.

At the checkpoint, one warden—a captain, according to her insignia—came over to exchange a few softly spoken words with Cruz. I could see the curiosity in her eyes as she took in the rest of us, but she gave a tight nod, pointing at her watch and holding up ten fingers. Cruz flashed her a suave smile and nodded, and then began pushing us forward.

“I’m sorry about that,” he said as we moved through the wide hall, passing the wooden double doors every fifteen to twenty feet that led to private balconies for wealthier patrons to view the fights, our footsteps echoing loudly. “They are very concerned about the equipment, so we’ll only have ten minutes in this area. Please hurry.”

We walked in tense silence, moving around the stadium to the opposite side of the stairs. The hall continued on, curving around as we approached a final, sandbagged area right in front of what had to be the control room. I noted only two women guarding the light blue door to the projecting room, much to my relief. I exchanged looks with Ms. Dale, giving her an imperceptible nod, and we began to slow as one, drawing our steps out.

If Cruz had even begun to notice, it wouldn’t have mattered, because Amber was already creating a distraction. “Mr. Cruz, can I ask you about that loss you suffered early on in your career? Not with the PFL, I know… This was a few years back. With Scarpelli?”

It did the trick. Cruz groaned theatrically and began to launch into the inconsistencies of a ruling that had not been in his favor, citing ridiculous facts and statistics, as well as the referee’s loose familial ties with Scarpelli. I ignored it all, my heartbeat speeding up as we drew closer to the guards. I kept my body relaxed, my focus on the two wardens before me.

As we came around the sandbags, Ms. Dale reached into her pocket, withdrawing a handkerchief, dabbing her forehead, and then replacing the white cloth. I watched as Amber leaned into Cruz, practically resting her chest against his arms, distracting the man further.

There was no script for this next part, especially for Amber, Ms. Dale, and me—it was more of a gut feeling of when to go. Maybe to Jeff or Cad it seemed they’d missed a message, but in truth, there was none. One minute we were a group on a tour with a famous PFL fighter. The next, our guns were out and pointed.

It took a second for it to register with our targets, which was good, because that gave Cad and Jeff a chance to catch up.

Amber had her gun pressed against Cruz’s temple, and Ms. Dale and I had surged forward toward the guards, our sights trained on them.

I saw one of them reach for her gun and gave her a warning look, tightening my grip on my gun. “Don’t.”

The guard’s hand froze as she took us all in, and then her hand slowly withdrew, rising to the level of her shoulders. The second guard followed suit, her blue eyes growing wide with fear.

“Good,” I said with a tight nod. “Now, each of you reach into your friend’s holster, pull out her gun, and set it slowly on the floor.”

The two women exchanged glances, and then awkwardly reached over each other for their partner’s gun, most likely with their off hands. Good. Awkward meant they wouldn’t try anything.

A few seconds later, the guns were on the floor, and the two women stood before us unarmed. I nodded to Jeff, who moved over and quickly patted them down.

“Clean,” he said after several tense heartbeats.

I nodded and holstered my gun. “Ladies, I am terribly sorry for the inconvenience, but can you please open the door? My associates here are ever so eager to see the control box.”

There was another exchange of glances, and then, reluctantly, one of them pulled out a security badge that dangled from her belt, holding it up to a black sensor box on the wall behind her. There was a beep, followed by a metallic clunk, and Ms. Dale hurried over to the door, pulling it open.