The Gender Plan (The Gender Game #6)

I did too, and that was what made me hesitate. As a warden, I was used to doing things a certain way—a legal procedure, a trial, some impartial witnesses—even in the continually biased environment that was Patrus. This was all uncharted territory to me, and in reality, executions as a whole didn’t sit right with me, especially when it came to women. It may have sounded weird, but it only made me think of my late wife, and how she had suffered in the hands of a justice system working against her. We were a group of people basically enacting vigilante justice, and I didn’t want to make the decision until we had to—though that time was rapidly approaching.

At first, our route had seemed so clear to me: we would take Desmond, question her, and finally figure out all of the plans she and Elena had discussed and put into place. All that knowledge would become the lynchpin, and we could finally attack head on, unraveling the thread of their plans, making everything fall apart.

These were all woefully na?ve thoughts. They had been from the start. Even from my vantage point at the door, I could see the intelligence glimmering in Desmond’s eyes. The calculations, the strategizing. Everything her eyes touched seemed to be undergoing an intense analysis.

“Come in if you’re coming in,” she said, shifting her hands under her hips and lifting herself into more of a sitting position. As she moved, the chains that connected her wrist and foot cuffs clinked against each other. Her left shin was encased in a bulky white cast, making the task of moving slightly harder for her, but she managed.

Ms. Dale stepped into the room first, her eyes taking in the surroundings as if she were seeing the room for the first time. Desmond watched her former protégé, a small, secret smile playing on her lips. “Not that I’m sure where I am, Melissa, but my congratulations on making this slap-dash of a prison so boring.”

“Well, you know us, Des,” Ms. Dale replied, coming around to face her. “We do so love accommodating you.”

Desmond chuckled, her eyes flicking to me. “Well, considering that I’m still in one piece and Mr. Croft isn’t throttling me, I guess that means I didn’t kill Violet. Bulletproof vest?”

I took a step down into the room, letting the door close behind me. “Maybe you missed.”

Her smile deepened knowingly. “Or that,” she amended dismissively. “So, we’ve moved out of the triage part of our little melodrama. Is this when the torture starts? I’m curious to see what the so-called good guys have planned for little old me.”

“No torture, Desmond,” Ms. Dale said flatly. “We’ve come to inform you that we’ll be executing you tomorrow.”

If Desmond was surprised by this, she didn’t show it. Instead, she pursed her lips thoughtfully, her hands flexing in her cuffs. “Oh my. So you’ve gotten tired of chasing the boys all around the countries, then?” She met my gaze, and I felt a flash of hate so strong it left me balling my hands into tight fists, the still healing scabs on my knuckles threatening to rip open. “I’m getting rather bored with them myself. I’m glad you all are getting the right idea.”

I couldn’t respond through the surge of fury that ripped through my body at the thought of abandoning the boys to their fate. I took a breath, searching for a way to turn this to my advantage. Ms. Dale stepped in, her training allowing her to maintain more cool than I was able to—but barely.

“You don’t think we really believe that tripe that you tried to feed us?” she said sharply. “There’s no way Elena would allow you to kill a bunch of her precious experiments just out of spite. She doesn’t believe in emotions. The whole concept is ridiculous. I expected better from you, in fact.”

“But it worked, didn’t it?” Desmond said, the corners of her mouth turning up just slightly.

“Not for very much longer,” Ms. Dale said, although the pause after Desmond made the remark was a little too long. “But we’ve made up our minds. Your days are numbered. The number is very short.”

“So where am I to die? Here in this room, or shall we go for a lovely stroll in the forest?”

“Forest. We don’t want to expose the children to that level of violence.” Ms. Dale gave Desmond a tight smile. “We had a sort of compromise—Viggo didn’t want to execute you, but he was outvoted. Then when it came down to timing, there was a bit of an argument, hence the compromise.” As she spoke, Ms. Dale paced the room slowly, her arms crossed under her chest. “Basically… you get a final request, within reason.”

Desmond looked at each of us in turn, and then gave a surprised laugh. “Dear God, is that the best you can do? This… little sashay around the room with a hokey story about how you all agreed to execute me… Please. You are too soft to do something like that. You can’t even muster the practicality to sacrifice a few orphans.”

I emitted a bitter laugh. “I can’t believe that I spent forty-five minutes in a meeting arguing to keep you alive, even though I know you are never going to provide any information to us.”

My retort caught her off balance, and she considered me with a long smile. “It’s a pity you didn’t consult me before you voted. I could’ve helped your argument immensely. But I suppose, since you’re so set on executing me, it doesn’t matter now.”

I ignored the hook she was trying to set, and took a step forward, changing tact. “Aren’t you tired of all this? All this fighting and killing people? I know I am, and I’m half your age.”

“Closer to a third, actually,” Desmond corrected me primly, her fingers coming up, jangling the chain through the gray and white hair hanging in curls around her face. With her hair down, she looked less severe and more elderly. Frail and fragile. I noticed the translucency of her skin, how the tips of her fingers were slanted down, likely from arthritis. Like this, she appeared almost… soft.

She met my gaze, a sardonic smile playing on her lips. “As for my request, where’s my son?”

I already had my answer for that. “You’re not going to see him.”

“Is that his decision, or yours?” The question was delivered casually, but it packed a solid blow. I hadn’t had a chance to ask Jay what he wanted—I had just made the decision. “That’s what I thought,” Desmond whispered, her lips curling up and around into a circle as her smile grew. “You know the difference between you and me, Mr. Croft? At least my soldiers know that I’m going to be making all decisions on their behalf, with their lives, before I go off and do it.”

“That doesn’t make it right,” I snapped back.

“Winning makes it right.” Desmond rested her shoulders back into her pillow. “And, by the Mother, I will make sure that I take everything away from you, starting with those boys, and ending with Violet. And if dying is what it takes to do it, I accept that price gladly.”

The hatred was back, thick and acrid on my tongue, as I thought of the way Desmond had fired at Violet, and how Violet had dropped, lifeless, to the ground. For Desmond, it had been as simple as breathing, but to me… In that moment, I’d thought she had robbed me of any last hope I had for the future. The despair alone had threatened to crush me—I couldn’t bear losing Violet. Not now, not ever.