The Gender War (The Gender Game #4)(44)

We took the left, and drove for fifteen minutes through empty fields that had recently been harvested. The gray clouds hanging in the sky gave the whole thing a strangely desolate look—or maybe that was just the mood I was in.

I was distracted slightly when a gray stone wall finally came into view, and I whistled when we got closer. The wall was ten feet high at least, and it stretched far enough that it looked like the whole estate beyond it was fully surrounded. We pulled to a stop at a heavy-looking black iron gate, and I watched as Amber hopped out, came around the front of the truck, and entered a code into a little keypad set into an alcove in the wall next to it. I felt doubtful that getting in could be that easy, but there was a click and a soft whir, and the two sides of the gate began to draw apart, running easily on motorized tracks.

Once Amber was back in the cab, I asked, “How did you know that code would still work?”

She gave me a scathing glance, her jaw clenched, all her anger from earlier back tenfold. “My parents would never change it,” she said, her disgust so thick I felt like I was drowning in it. “They keep pretending that I want to come home.”

As Owen gunned the engine and started slowly moving down the drive, I had to wonder what we were getting into—and if we should get into it. By that time, though, the iron gates had closed behind us. It was too late to turn back.





16





Viggo





I whistled as we pulled through the gate, unable to keep myself from feeling impressed at the carefully manicured lawn that seemed to stretch on for miles around the sprawling mansion that loomed just half a mile down the road. I looked back and saw that Tim’s eyes were also wide as he took in the lavish surroundings—though, to be fair, his expression had been like this for almost the whole ride. I knew he must have been uncomfortable due to the continued contact with my back, but he hadn’t shown signs of pain—just pure excitement.

I’d had no idea that Amber’s family was rich, but it was readily apparent by the environment. The cost of water to keep the grass and hedges green could probably feed a family of five or six for months. Easily.

The house was of some ancient design I couldn’t quite place. It was set back from the road, atop a small hill. A wide staircase had been cut out of the hillside, leading up to a porch that spanned the entire front of the house. The porch sat under the second story, supported by massive white columns of stone. Wide bay windows framed the double set of heavy wooden doors, and there were two more sets of windows on either side before the porch ended, spaced about ten to twelve feet apart from one another.

The second story had smaller, more standard-sized windows, and it was designed as though someone had taken a sizable square chunk out of the front, leaving a wide, set-back balcony with some deck furniture on it. It was, by far, the most ostentatious house I had seen, aside from the king’s palace. It made me curious as to who Amber’s parents really were.

We approached the house, and I pulled to the side of the road and twisted the motorcycle’s throttle, accelerating past the truck and coming to a stop on the drive in front of the steps. A man I vaguely recognized was waiting at the front, a confused, anticipatory expression on his face. His auburn hair was a clear indication that he was Amber’s father. He was fit—although not muscular—and was well into his forties.

He frowned as I took the helmet off and dismounted, and his frown deepened when Tim did the same. It wasn’t until the truck came to a stop and Amber hopped out that a smile appeared. “Amberlynn,” he exclaimed, his arms spreading wide as he moved down the stairs toward her. His steps faltered as he took her in, and his smile slipped away. “What on earth have you done to your hair?”

Amber’s expression was glacial as she climbed the stairs toward him, ignoring his question completely. His smile made a cautious comeback as she approached, but then flickered and died permanently when his head turned to the back of the truck. I took a step forward so I could better see what was causing the alarmed expression on his face, and then suppressed a groan when I saw King Maxen being offloaded—still in cuffs—from the back.

Amber’s father looked back and forth between his approaching daughter and the king, as if he wasn’t sure which issue he should address first. He seemed to opt for the reunion, but his tone had gone from one of paternal concern to alarm in seconds. “What is this?” he demanded as Amber came to stand in front of him.

“Where’s Mother?” Amber asked, and the man was taken by surprise yet again, thrown off balance by her simple question.

“I… uh… well…” he stuttered, looking distraught. He took a deep breath and then sighed. “I’m sorry to have to tell you like this, Amberlynn, but your mother had an accident six months ago. She… she didn’t make it.”

I looked at Amber. Her lips pursed, and she said nothing as she stared at her father.

Then she reached down, pulled out her gun, and shot her father in the leg.

He screamed and dropped to the ground, his hands already clutching his leg, trying to stop the blood. I reeled back in shock as Amber moved closer to where her father was crying and demanding help, stared down at him for a few seconds, and then brought her gun in line with his head. He yelled, babbling incoherently as he tried to move away from her, both hands raised in surrender.