The Gender Plan (The Gender Game #6)(37)

“Let’s put it to a vote,” Ms. Dale said after a long moment of silence. “Just for this exact plan. All in favor?”

Thomas, Amber, and Viggo’s hands shot up, the three of them saying “aye” at almost the exact same time. After a moment of hesitation, I raised my hand as well, resolving to see the decision through to the end.

Ms. Dale’s face was impassive, but I could tell she still wasn’t happy with the decision. “The ayes have it,” she said softly. “Let’s get ready to talk to Desmond.”

A chill raced down my spine in trepidation about what was in store for us all. There never was any telling, where Desmond was concerned.





13





Viggo





The den had suffered massively in our attempt to create a prison for Desmond. The animal heads and pictures that had adorned the wall had been stripped away, although their former presence was still distinguishable by the dark sections of paint that hadn’t faded like the rest of the walls. We had cleared out every knickknack and every keepsake, every object in the room, creating a wide-open space.

We had given her a big fluffy blanket and a couch cushion (with no zippers on the upholstery) so she could make a small nest on the floor—Ms. Dale had warned us about the many dangerous uses of sheets. She’d also been very upset that we’d even given her something besides bare floor to keep herself warm, but I’d been adamant about it. We weren’t animals, and wouldn’t treat our prisoners as such. Cruelty in itself had never been justice. That was what separated us from people like Desmond.

The windows had been boarded up from the outside, and I had personally knocked out every pane of glass and removed any shards. I did not want her to have any shot at finding a weapon. I couldn’t risk anyone here, especially given how much I knew everyone wanted her dead.

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.”