The Gender Plan (The Gender Game #6)(15)

I crept back to Jeff’s room and put the bulletproof vest on, then shrugged my shirt back on over it, its clumsy weight settling over my ribs as if to say that we were really getting serious now. I took the gun Owen had given me out of my waistband and wrapped it up in a shirt I’d pilfered from Jeff’s wardrobe.

Moving confidently down the hall, I slowed as I approached the landing to the servants’ stairs, creeping silently past it. I paused, listening to the sounds of grunting and straining that came from below. The guards were working on moving a big chunk of debris now, and from the sound of it, they weren’t making much progress. A part of me still wanted to try my luck with shooting them… but I’d already gone through that logic. I couldn’t risk taking them all at once.

At least they were distracted. I approached a window that looked out on the grounds behind the manor. It was a smaller window than the others found around the house—I guessed Ashabee had figured his servants didn’t need a view. Sucking in a deep breath, I drew back my gun, wrapped in Jeff’s shirt, and slammed it hard on the corner of the window.

It shattered noisily, and I froze, my ears and eyes focused on the landing. Seconds went by without a sound, so I began to knock at the glass still standing in the frame, sweeping it away.

“Someone’s up there,” a voice said loudly.

“Of course someone’s up there,” Desmond’s voice came snidely. “Get up there and find out who!”

I’d known they were going to hear me—that was the point of the maneuver—but even so, my heart jumped into my mouth at the sound of the order to come find me. I heard footsteps clattering up the hall and jumped into action as quickly as I could. Which wasn’t very fast.

I awkwardly shoved the muffled gun—safety on—into my waistband and moved down the hallway at a fast walk, heading deeper into the servants’ quarters, hearing cautious footsteps on the floor behind me. Despite all my preparations, I spotted my first trap only in the nick of time, managing to step over it and ignore thoughts of what would have happened if I hadn’t seen it there. When I moved around the corner, I paused, my heart beating fast, to peek out into the hallway I’d just left… just in time to meet the brown eyes of a Matrian warden stepping out of a door.

Her eyes widened, and then the shout went up: “Over there! She went down that hall!” I darted back, stumbling on my feet with a little jolt of panic at the footsteps behind me accelerating into a run. I didn’t have to get away, I reminded myself. I just had to avoid…

Three steps down the hall. Four. The footsteps grew louder and louder, and I held my breath, wondering whether to start running.

Then the explosion went off, debris flying down the hall and impacting against the wall behind me.

I let out the breath I’d been holding, risking a moment to hope. Peeking around the corner once more, I winced when I saw the still form of one guard, blood soaking into her uniform, making the heavy olive-green fabric appear almost black. The other two guards were also sprawled on the floor, but they were stirring, slowly sitting up.

I turned back and began to move, heading toward the next trap. I didn’t want to draw too far ahead of them—which was good, because my ribs made it hard for me to run much faster than this. I couldn’t have beat them, even if I wanted to. Even at a pace that seemed agonizingly slow, I made it to the next corner and was just moving into the adjacent hall when gunfire exploded behind me.

Hunching my shoulders and gritting my teeth against the impending pain in my ribs, I threw myself into the bedroom on the left side of the hall, the door already standing open for me. From what I’d gathered during our time here, these were some of Ashabee’s more ‘practical’ guest rooms, which meant not grand enough for a politician or someone of great wealth, but rather a merchant or some kind of representative.

It was still such a luxurious chamber that it made this whole maneuver seem more surreal than ever. I slammed the door shut behind me, wincing at the loud noise it made; as soon as it was shut, I slid down onto my stomach, wriggling myself under the bed, trying not to think of hands grabbing my feet and dragging me out while I was exposed like this...

I made it under, feet first, and waited, my breaths whooshing loudly in my ears, my handgun pressing uncomfortably into my hip. I grabbed the string running down the bedpost to my left and anxiously rubbed it between my fingers, hoping for luck.

It felt like ages before footsteps approached the door, and I felt my heart skip a beat as I heard the knob begin to turn. This is part of the plan, I reminded myself, trying for a deep, calming breath while making as little noise as possible. The door swung slowly open.

As soon as I saw the warden’s boots stepping forward clear of the door, I yanked on the string, tightening the simple noose knot I had been able to make using my fingers and my teeth.

Immediately the sound of gunfire filled the room as the automatic rifle I’d tied the string to erupted. The string continued to compress the trigger, round after round of ammunition tearing out toward the door, and the bedframe rattled as the gun’s recoil strained it against the huge knot of tape and string I’d used to secure it to a bedpost.

I didn’t wait to see if it had been successful—I knew it had been even before her body toppled to the floor. I slid out from under the bed on the side, away from the gunfire, my chest aching as I squirmed up, scrambling for the bathroom in that direction as the gun finished expending its clip and slamming the door behind me.