The Gender Game 2: The Gender Secret

by Bella Forrest

  Viggo and I froze. I released Viggo, and moved on all fours to the second couch, pushing it from the wall.

  “C’mon,” I hissed at Viggo.

  He shook his head, still straining against the bar. “They’ll know we’re still here if this door is still barricaded.”

  I watched him pull, realizing he was right. The banging on the door was growing louder now. I looked at it, stunned to see that the metal was beginning to flex under the force of the hits.

  “They have some sort of battering ram,” I breathed.

  Viggo looked over his shoulder and gave a curse. He relinquished his grip on the bar and crawled over to me.

  “We don’t have a lot of time. There’s got to be another way out of here.”

  I shook my head, my eyes darting around. “There’s nothing. Only the two doors.”

  Viggo was breathing heavily as he fitted his large form next to mine. We pressed in behind the couch, listening as the banging continued.

  He pulled his gun out. “We can shoot it out,” he said, his green eyes studying mine.

  I hesitated, my mind racing over the possibility. I shook my head. “No, we don’t know how many there are. They could be wearing tactical gear, and who knows what kind of weapons they have. It’s not smart.”

  Viggo exhaled sharply. “Do you want to surrender to them?”

  I thought about it for a second. It would guarantee temporary stay of execution, nothing more.

  Frustrated by the lack of options, I kicked the wall, hard enough to make the vent to my left rattle. The rattle caught my attention, and I focused my gaze on the vent.

  “Viggo,” I hissed, pointing at the vent.

  He exchanged a glance with me, and then nodded. We crawled over to it.

  Viggo slid his fingers through the grate, and began to pull. It didn’t want to come out, no matter how much Viggo pulled.

  I ran my fingers over the edges, and found the holes for four screws, bolting it in place. Without hesitating, I pulled off my bag, positioning it between me and the wall, and fumbled around for my knife.

  Pulling it out, I opened it up, and began attacking the screws. The banging had seemingly stopped, but I wasn’t going to waste time investigating why.

  Viggo had noticed what I was doing, and reached in his pocket, pulling out his knife. We worked in tandem, sliding the tips of our knives into the slots of the screws, and turning.

  “Lefty loosey, righty tighty,” I reminded myself, remembering my mother saying that one time when I had asked to help her hang some shelves.

  Viggo frowned at me, and I shrugged. I caught the flash of a smile from him, and it almost made me forget my fear and smile with him. Almost.

  The first screw I was working on slid out of the hole and fell to the floor. I blew a lock of hair out of my face, and started working on the other.

  There was another bang, and I heard the sound of metal bending. The loud metal groan that filled the room made me want to cover my ears.

  Viggo and I exchanged worried glances. My hands were shaking as I moved to the next screw, but I kept focus. I could barely hear the sound of voices coming from the hall, my heart was beating so loudly in my chest.

  Viggo’s second screw fell to the floor, and he scooped them up and slipped them into his pocket. His eyes were now on me, urging me on voicelessly. I managed to catch the screw head with the tip of my knife, in spite of my shaking hands, and began twisting the knife to the left.

  There were sounds coming from the door now, but I was too anxious to try and make sense of them. The screw slipped free finally, after what seemed like an eternity, and I exhaled in relief.

  Viggo pried the grate from the wall, and grabbed my bag, sliding it in first. He then grabbed me by the shirt collar and started to shove me into the hole. The thin aluminum groaned under my weight and we both froze for a second, waiting to see if we had been noticed.

  When nothing presented itself, Viggo’s hand pressed on my shoulders, urging me forward. Using my elbows, I wiggled into the pitch black hole. I came to a three-way intersection about four feet in, and wiggled around it to give Viggo enough room.

  I waited for a second, but when Viggo didn’t follow, I pushed myself backward. It took some doing, but I managed to shift back far enough just in time to see Viggo placing the grate back over the hole.

  “Viggo,” I hissed.

  I couldn’t make out his face through the grate from that distance, but I heard his voice clear as day.

  “Can’t fit. Besides, they know someone is in here, they just don’t know who.”

  “Viggo!” I wheezed, a sudden panic overtaking me. There was no telling what they would do if they caught him.

  “Calm down, Violet,” he whispered, his strong voice floating down the vent. I heard the scrape of the screws on the grate as he fit them in, finger tightening. “How many times have I rescued you?”

  “What?” I gasped back, confused at the abrupt change of topic.

  “They’re coming. The door is opening. How many times?”

  I wriggled in the vent, maneuvering myself back toward the grate. “I don’t know! Why?”

  I heard him slide the final screw in, twisting it with a grunt. Once it was done, he dipped his head down, so I could see his face. I reached for the grate, trying to grab it.

  “It’s your turn to rescue me now, Vi,” he whispered, a small sad smile playing on his lips.

  I bit back my cry, but tears were dripping down my face. I couldn’t lose Viggo—not now. We’d been through too much.

  “They’re coming,” he whispered. “Move away from the grate.”

  I watched as he disappeared from sight, his fingers coming through the grate. He heaved at it, like he was trying to pull it out, but I realized it was an act. I slowly backed away from the grate, obscuring myself in the darkness of the vent.

  I had bitten back my tears and all sounds, when I heard someone speak.

  “Well, well. Looks like we found a rat,” came a feminine voice caked with amusement and menace.

  “Oh. Hello… ladies,” Viggo said, his fingers sliding back through the holes slowly. I could imagine him holding up his hands, trying to act cool and calm.

  “Where is Violet Bates?” a second voice asked, her tone flat and even.

  “Beats me. I’m just looking for my dog. Have you seen him? Brown fur, answers to the name—”

  There was a wet cracking sound, one I recognized as flesh striking flesh, followed by a boneless sound of someone’s body hitting the floor. I covered my mouth with both hands to keep my cries from escaping.

  27

  Violet

  I waited for them to hear me, to find me, but there was no indication that they had noticed me yet.

  “Was that really necessary, sister?” came the first speaker. That was interesting—the two were related. I wondered who they were. Matrian, from the sound of it.

  “Probably not, but it was fun,” came the first voice.

  There was a pregnant pause, and I held my breath, afraid to move. One panel flexing under my body weight, and they would know where I was. Viggo’s sacrifice would have been in vain.

  “Check the vent,” commanded the toneless voice of the second woman.

  A shadow passed over the vent, and I pressed back deeper into the darkness.

  There was a long pause as I felt, rather than saw, the eyes probing the hole I was sheltered in.

  “Nothing there. Wherever this Violet is… she wasn’t with him. They must have separated on one of the upper levels. Maybe she hid, and then took off while we pursued him.”

  The shadow disappeared.

  “Very well. Let’s take this man to one of the interrogation rooms, and find out where she would go.”

  “We should kill him,” responded the first voice, disdain thick in her voice. I sucked in my breath at the way she casually suggested it.

  “Interesting. Why?”

  “Because even if he does know where she is, he
won’t tell us. It’s a waste of time.”

  “I see.” I heard one of them walking around. Viggo gave a groan, and I bit back my protest. It would do no good to say anything. But if they agreed to kill him, I would tear out of this vent and kill them both before they got a chance.

  Risking the noise, I reached for my bag and found my gun. The heavy press of the cold metal and grip calmed me and made me feel more in control, knowing it was there.

  “Sister,” came the same voice. “I think killing him is extremely unwise.”

  “Oh,” came the snide response. “Taken in by his pretty face?”

  “Hardly. But he could have other information that could be helpful to us.”

  “Like?”

  “Well, really. How would I know? But killing him now means we’ll never have the chance to figure it out. And that would not make Elena happy, knowing that we had a Patrian agent in our grasp and killed him before we could extract anything of interest.”

  “Is that our job now? Making sweet Elena happy?”

  The sound of a slap echoed through the room, followed by a few staggered steps landing heavily on the carpeted floor.

  “You dare hit me,” shouted the second voice, an indignant rage thundering through it.

  “You are being disrespectful to our new queen,” came the toneless response.

  There was a pause. “Of course. You’re right. I apologize.”

  “Accepted. Now, shall we get this huge specimen of a Patrian into an interrogation room? I still want to question Ms. Dale and see what she knows.”

  There was a wordless sound of assent, and then a shuffling around. I held very still as I heard them pick up Viggo’s unconscious form and carry him out of the room, leaving me alone in the darkness.

  In my head, I counted to one hundred, just to feel sure they were gone. As I lay there, I ran my mind back over their conversation, trying to figure out who they were.

  They were clearly agents of the new queen, Elena. Elena was Rina’s eldest daughter, and first in line of succession. She had been training her entire life to assume the role of Queen, and had served in various cabinet roles in the government. I was surprised to hear that she had already been crowned, given that her mother had been murdered less than a week ago. When Queen Rina’s mother had died, the nation had grieved for a month before the coronation of her daughter.

  Yet they spoke about her in such a casual way, implying a more informal relationship. Were they just disenfranchised agents, or did they know the queen personally? Why would they be here? Ms. Dale had already been sent, so there was no need for further agents. It really didn’t make any sense.

  I rolled those thoughts through my head while I counted. After one hundred, I pressed my foot against one of the walls, until the metal popped loudly. Then I waited.

  No sounds of activity. I exhaled slowly, and then scooted my way back up to the grate. The metal I was lying on groaned as I moved, and I froze each time, waiting to be discovered, anticipated it even, scenarios playing out in my head. But nobody came.

  Once at the grate, I began pushing against it, using my feet for leverage. It turned out to be fruitless. Viggo had secured it to the wall too tightly.

  After ten minutes of pushing, I finally gave up. Wiping my face, I pushed myself back into the tunnel, and started to think.

  The first goal was finding Viggo, wherever he was. To do that, I needed to find a way out of these ventilation ducts.

  Reaching for the bag, I exchanged the gun I was holding for a flashlight and clicked it on. The light illuminated everything, and I breathed a sigh of relief. I didn't think I would have lasted long without a flashlight.

  The light cut through the darkness, ending about ten feet away, where I could see the vent making a sharp left. Thinking about the layout of each level, I began to wiggle my way through it. The space was tight, and as I moved, I realized that there would have been no way for Viggo to fit.

  He probably knew it earlier than I did. I was so focused on the situation that I had completely overlooked the environment.

  I pushed the bag in front of me, making my way down. It was awkward, holding the flashlight and pushing the backpack, but I managed. The duct groaned and banged with each movement I made, but I eventually figured out where to put my weight on each section, keeping the noise to a minimum.

  I slid the bag around the corner, and followed it through. About three feet in front of me, the vent slanted down at an angle. I considered going back, but there was nowhere to turn around, and I didn’t feel like doing this in reverse. I wrapped my hand around the strap of the bag, and pushed forward.

  I saw a dim yellow light coming from ahead as I carefully descended. I pushed toward it. The slant leveled out about three feet before the source of the light, which I could see was another grate. I approached it cautiously, making a concentrated effort to move as silently as possible.

  Once there, I sneaked a glance through the grate. It was the stairwell, and it was empty. Taking a chance, I placed my hand on the grate, and pushed. It was fixed in place.

  I didn’t waste any time trying to bust it open. The stairs were too exposed anyway. I would be trapped if anyone came through. It was better to proceed downward.

  I moved forward and reached another downward slope. My arms were beginning to ache with the strain of using them to control my descent, but I had no room to turn around, so I made do.

  Once the slope evened out again, I came to a fork—left or right. Ultimately it didn’t matter, but if this level was situated like one of the upper levels, with individual rooms divided by a hallway, I would need to search both sides for Viggo, and that would take time.

  I moved left, pushing the bag in front of me. I turned the corner, and paused. There was a vent a foot away from me. Hurriedly, I clicked off the flashlight, so the light wouldn’t attract attention. Darkness flooded in, leaving me completely blind for several seconds.

  I focused on my breathing, and not the creepy-crawly sensation that tickled the back of my neck. I did my best to block my mind from associating that sensation to the centipedes that I had been covered with a short time ago, but it was hard. My hand twitched with the urge to slap the area. I clenched my fists and forced by breath in and out evenly and slowly.

  It took several seconds, but the sensation disappeared. Licking my lips, I slowly moved down the darkened tunnel. I paused at each vent, listening intently. The darkness was making my hearing more intense, and it was hard blocking out the sound of my own breathing and heartbeat, but I took my time, and moved slowly.

  The rooms on this side appeared empty. I checked each grate after I was certain the room was vacant, but they were just as firmly bolted as the others. I left my bag at the junction that led to the next stairwell, and proceeded to the other side. As I came around the corner, I noticed that a light was streaming from one of the vents.

  I carefully made my way over, taking extra care not to shift any of the panels. As I neared, I could hear the sound of breathing coming from the room. I paused just inches from the light, and listened, counting in my head. The breathing was even and deep, meaning the person in the room was either sleeping or unconscious.

  I risked a glance inside. I couldn’t see much beyond floor level, but someone was tied to the chair. I recognized Viggo’s shoes and pants.

  “Viggo,” I whispered.

  The breathing continued uninterrupted. I reached out and grabbed the grate, giving it a little push. Like all the others, it didn’t budge.

  I gave a sharp exhale of frustration, and released the grate. I was beginning to think that there was no way for me to get out of the ducts, and that while Viggo had saved my life, he had unknowingly condemned me to die of dehydration and starvation in my new hiding place.

  I debated waiting until Viggo woke up so I could talk to him, but I had no idea how long that would be, and I risked exposing myself if they came in to check up on him.

  “I’ll be back,” I whispered through
the grate, pushing myself backward.

  I headed back to the junction, and maneuvered my way down the next slope. The stairwell was empty again. I was guessing the two mystery women had headed back upstairs to check on Ms. Dale, so I headed down.

  The next level was an open area, much like the greenhouse room and the common room, but it was cleaner, more pristine. I could make out some lab equipment from my position on the ground. There was also what appeared to be an office tucked into a corner, but I couldn’t see much—just a book case and a desk. The level was empty as well.

  I tested grates as I went, moving along toward the next stairwell. I was going to find a way out of here, rescue Viggo, and get us both out of there.

  28

  Viggo

  I came to consciousness slowly. I could taste the coppery tang of blood in my mouth, and the left side of my face felt like someone had gone at it with a shovel. I cracked open my eyes, or eye, rather. The left one was swollen over. I had been in enough fights to know that it would be a couple days before I would be able to open it fully.

  The light in the room was blinding. It took several seconds and a lot of squinting before I began to make things out. This room was different than the others. That meant I was on one of the lower levels.

  It was also sparse—there was only a table and some chairs, but they had been pushed off to the corner. The walls were all bare, except for the one I was facing, which had a massive mirror built into the wall. I squinted at the mirror, and realized it was probably two-way.

  Which was impressive, given the size of it. Two way mirrors weren’t easy to make—it cost more to make them than it was worth—so the fact that there was one adorning the wall showed certain disregard for the cost. Then again, I was sitting in an underground facility miles away from civilization, surrounded by some of the most dangerous environment known to man… or woman. Whoever had built it had spent a lot of resources to do so.