The Gender War (The Gender Game #4)(52)

I sank into the mattress, ready to fall asleep—only to find myself lying awake, thinking about what Amber had said. She’d acted dramatic and childish, and it was hard to understand, but it was a big sacrifice she had made to bring us here, and I was grateful to her. How could she think that a war between the two nations would fix the kinds of things that had broken her childhood so terribly? But Violet and I were still mostly doing damage control. Did we really have any better ideas?

I hated seeing what Amber had been through. But I couldn’t believe in war, either. There had to be some way to do the right thing that didn’t involve thousands of people suffering.

My thoughts tangling up with each other, I curled myself around Violet, reassuring myself with my love’s presence, and tried to let it all go.





19





Violet





There was something dragging me out of sleep, and I tried to resist it with all of my might. But it was persistent in its rhythmic, high-pitched intensity, burning deep down through my subconscious mind, forcing me awake.

I peeled back my eyelids and stared at the ceiling, surprised to find that the beeping continued, soft but insistent. I groaned as I sat up, feeling every part of my body protesting my decision—particularly my right hand. Looking around, it took me a second to remember where I was.

I had no idea what time it was. Beside me, Viggo slept on—I didn’t even remember him getting into bed with me. I could only admire his ability to sleep through the aggravating sound piping through a tiny speaker installed on the headboard. Dropping a brief kiss on his cheek, I pushed his shoulder hard.

“Wha—?” He snorted in alarm, jerking upright. He looked dazedly around the room, his eyes bloodshot, deep bags forming shadows under them. “What’s that?” he asked, rubbing his eyes with his fingers to clear away the sleep.

I was already pushing up off the bed. “Alarm,” I mumbled as I stretched my limbs out, trying to force them into a wakefulness I didn’t feel.

He groaned and rolled out of bed onto his feet. “Let’s go.”

I pulled open the bedroom door and headed downstairs. None of the other rooms were opening up in recognition of the alarm. That was weird.

“There you are!” called Amber from the bottom of the stairs. “Owen’s waiting in the foyer—we’ve got problems.”

“What’s going on?” I asked, instantly alert, thanks to the tension in Amber’s voice.

“A truck just smashed through the gate,” she continued sharply. “A big hauler. It’s approaching now. Here.”

I reached out as I came toward her down the stairs, accepting the gun she held out to me with my left hand.

“Why are we the only ones up?” I asked as I popped out the clip, checking to make sure it was loaded.

Amber handed another pistol to Viggo and gave me a surprised, wide-eyed look. “Because I piped the alarm to your and Viggo’s room exclusively. Well… yours and Owen’s. Everyone else is still on duty.” I hadn’t even known the security system was able to perform such a complicated function—but apparently, Amber was used to it.

I nodded, pushing the clip back into the gun and pulling on the slide to put a round into the chamber. It took me a moment to realize that I was having far less trouble than I had been, using my right wrist to push the clip into place. My hand was still swollen and sore, but the combination of Quinn’s cleaning and the painkillers Owen had made me take seemed to be helping.

I felt a sudden desire to rip away the bandage and actually look at the stitches, but now wasn’t the time. Amber was already halfway down the hall by the time I finished processing my realization, Viggo at her heels. I moved quickly to keep up, keeping my gun pointed at the floor.

Owen was already outside on the porch, his gun trained on the cab of the truck as it growled and rattled toward us, its huge headlights blinding, making the rest of the night seem impossibly dark. I blinked in surprise when I saw how big it was—it was easily thirty feet in length, and stood over fifteen feet off the ground.

A thin stream of smoke or steam was hissing out from the front of the truck. Not a lot to be concerned about at the moment, but enough that it could quickly become a big deal, especially with how close the vehicle was pulling up to the front of the house. Luckily, our escape truck from the day before was still parked smack in the middle of the driveway and served as a barrier, blocking the vehicle from getting closer.

I jogged down the porch stairs as the truck continued its approach, its engine loud and sinister-sounding in my ears. I reached our truck just as the unknown one pulled to a stop, the air filled with the high-pitched whine of brakes, followed by a shuddering hiss. I braced my shoulder against the front of our truck and peeked out.

I couldn’t see the driver through the truck’s windshield. Looking back, I nodded to Viggo and then stepped out, switching off my gun’s safety and brandishing it confidently in my left hand. Even if I couldn’t aim, I could still do some damage. Viggo followed me, flanking right, and I saw Amber and Owen cutting a wide path to the left of us, sprinting across the grass so they could come back around the truck from behind.

I stopped twenty feet away, hoping the windows were open. “Shut off the truck!” I yelled, keeping my pistol level with where I sensed the driver would be.