The Gender Plan (The Gender Game #6)(48)

I studied the post, trying to analyze it for weaknesses. Truthfully, the wardens here had not spent their time waiting around while the city had erupted into chaos. For one, they’d made barricades—sometimes with those large concrete slabs that often served as borders between road lanes, but mostly with cars and bits of metal welded together. Regardless of what the blockades were made of, their configuration was usually the same. Two or three concentric rings of barricades, typically with some room in the road for the barricades to be rolled back to allow vehicles to pass through, but heavy enough to seriously cripple any car or truck trying to punch a hole through.

The office building’s defenses were fortified with bits of wood and metal barring the windows, save for small square holes, large enough to fit the muzzle of a rifle through, and with enough room left over to be able to sight down the barrel. A generator connected to massive lights helped illuminate the surrounding area, and many of the places where trees or other objects had obscured the lines of sight from the building were now stripped clean, impossible to sneak through without being spotted well before reaching the barricades.

At most of the guard posts there was also heavier artillery of some kind, mounted on wheels or, more typically, a car. Most of them sported .50 caliber machine guns, but a few had some sort of mortar or grenade launcher of some kind. I wasn’t entirely sure which this one was, but took screenshots using the function Thomas had installed.

I was just finishing noting my observations on blockade number four when the door to the basement opened, breaking my tunnel vision. Looking up, I smiled when I saw Viggo standing on the wooden landing, looking down at me.

“Hey,” I said, setting my clipboard down on the table. “How’d it go with King Maxen?”

Viggo’s boots thumped loudly on the steps, descending in a languid fashion. “Well, he doesn’t get better with time, that’s for sure.”

I winced sympathetically. “He give you a hard time?”

Stepping off the final step, Viggo gave me a droll look. “‘Hard’ would be a massive understatement at this juncture. I can confirm he gave me a headache, though.”

“Oh, poor thing,” I cooed teasingly, standing up and moving over to him. He met me halfway, pulling me into a hug.

“I am a poor thing,” he whispered in my ear, the touch of his breath on the delicate skin sending delicious tendrils of pleasure racing up and down my spine, pooling at the base of it. As if sensing my dilemma, Viggo placed a firm hand over the area, drawing me even tighter against the long solid line of his body, making my breath stutter out of me. “Poorer for having been denied seeing you all day.”

I smiled, losing myself in his embrace for a moment. “You always say the nicest things,” I said, resting my cheek against his chest. “I don’t think I’m as good at that as you are.”

“That’s okay. The relationship can only withstand one awesome partner.”

I pulled back and punched him lightly in the stomach, but I still couldn’t help smiling. Viggo chuckled and tugged me back closer, stooping over so he could press his forehead against mine. “Inconsiderate and violent,” he chided. “Whatever am I going to do with you?”

“Taking me to bed would be nice.” My last words might have gotten lost in the yawn that overtook me, but Viggo understood.

“I thought I told you I wasn’t that kind of guy,” Viggo joked, and I laughed as I slipped free of his hold, moving back over to the remote control. I slid my fingers back into the metallic slots, the cold metal tingling slightly with an electric charge, and then clicked the drone off of hover mode.

“You know what I meant,” I said as I plotted a route to bring the drone back home. I angled it higher, so I could have a less chaotic view of the earth below, and watched the screen closely as the ground flew by in the bright green definition of night vision.

“I do, I do.” I heard him move up behind me. We fell into a comfortable silence while I navigated and he watched. At one point, he picked up my clipboard and began reading. “Your handwriting needs work,” he teased.

“Bite me,” I replied tartly, still smiling.

“I might just do that.”

The silence returned, and I marveled at how pleasant it was to just be around him. We didn’t have to talk; we could just be. I didn’t think I’d ever felt that sort of relaxed sense of safety in my entire life, but if I died tomorrow, I hoped whatever happened next would feel a lot like this.

“How much longer, Vi?”

I blinked my heavy eyelids and crunched some quick numbers. “About five minutes,” I replied.

“Why don’t you just set it down in the field? It’ll keep until morning.”

“Are you sure?”

“We’ve got our meeting with the rebels in a little under five and a half hours, and we’ve been going since, what, six this morning? We could definitely use the sleep.”

He didn’t have to ask me twice, and I quickly landed the drone in one of the empty corn fields. I clicked off the remote control, knowing we needed to conserve its energy as well, and then stood up, taking another moment to stretch the aching muscles in my back.

Viggo waited patiently for me to be ready, and after I dropped my clipboard with a note on Henrik’s table, I headed toward the stairs with him following, grateful to be going to bed.