The Gender Game

by Forrest, Bella

The base of the vehicle vibrated, then we shuddered to a stop that sent the back of my head smashing against the trunk's side wall.

  The truck bobbed as people climbed out, unloading it of weight, and then the trunk opened. Two hands shot inside and grabbed me, yanking me out, and my feet sank into shallow water. We were in the dip of a wooded area and, as I gazed around wildly, I noticed we were surrounded by a crowd of men—and one woman—and five trucks. I gazed up at the slope we had just descended. Its steepness made me feel nauseated. The gunshots echoing down came from somewhere near the top.

  The man, whom I realized was the same coward who had run away, tugged on me, pulling me through the water as everyone else began to cross the stream.

  I wouldn't let them drag me further.

  The man must've thought that I was too weak to put up much of a fight now. My nose had started bleeding again, and my brain was clouded, but desperation had a way of making you find strength you thought you'd lost.

  I dropped all of my weight downward, my backside hitting the rocky bed of the stream. My wrist slipped from the man's grasp and I lurched for his knees, toppling him backward into the water. As he landed, his right hand instantly moved to his knife. But I had already predicted that.

  I slid the blade out of its sheath and without a second's hesitation slashed his throat in a fit of fury. His blood drenched my hands and arms and flowed around me as I fought to stand up… only to be instantly struck by a vicious blow to the back of my head. The jolt caused my grip around the knife to slacken and it flew from my hands as I tripped. The upper half of me fell on land, but my legs and feet still trailed in the water.

  I cried out as a foot stamped down on my back. Then hands gripped my neck, fingers gouging into my throat. With whatever renewed energy I'd managed to summon rapidly ebbing away, I fumbled around on the ground, searching for a sharp rock. Discovering a stone that felt jagged enough to cut skin, I raised my arms and pressed down hard against the man's hands with one palm, while using the other hand to rip sharply with the pointed tip of the stone where I estimated his wrist was.

  Wherever I'd managed to strike, it worked. His hold on me loosened enough for me to gasp for air. I twisted myself around, only to see my latest attacker joined by five other men. They weren't going to mess around this time. They knew it. I knew it. The deprivation of oxygen had made me too weak to stand up anymore. I couldn’t even attempt to continue defending myself.

  As the closest man leapt for me, all I could think to do was curl myself up in a ball, as if that would somehow soften the pain of the impact.

  His full weight crashed down on me, knocking my head back.

  But I did not feel the tip of the knife or slash of the blade.

  No. All I felt was his crushing weight.

  I managed to slither out from beneath him and glanced up to see the other men had stopped in their tracks. Not just stopped, but they were beginning to scatter, racing across the stream and into the woods on the other side.

  That was when I realized why the man on top of me had become so… motionless. As I slid out from under him completely, his face thunked against the ground. At the back of his head was a round, bloody bullet hole.

  I scrambled backward and tried to stand up, but I felt too dizzy. When I looked toward the slope where the bullet must have come from, my eyes found a tall figure running toward me through the trees. With the silhouette of a long gun in his right hand, his outline was familiar, even in the darkness. Wavy hair. The straight shape of a trench coat.

  I almost cried out in relief as Viggo's face emerged, illuminated by soft shafts of moonlight. His eyes gleamed with anxiety as he took in my bloodied state.

  "Whose blood is that?" he uttered in a strained whisper.

  I looked toward the stream and pointed to the corpse of the man whose throat I'd torn open. Then I spotted the knife, still coated with blood. It had fallen on the ground, not far away.

  Shouts of wardens drifted down from the slope. Viggo cursed. Throwing a sharp glance in their direction, he hurried into the stream and dragged the corpse out. Then he scooped up the knife. Wrapping his hands around its handle, to my shock, he drove it back into the dead man's throat.

  Leaving the blade erect, he leapt toward me, slipping one strong arm beneath my knees, the other wrapping around my waist. Then he picked me up and began to run with me.

  But not in the direction I'd expected him to; not back up the slope he'd come from. Instead, confusingly, he dashed across the stream and reached the opposite side. Shooting another look over his shoulder toward his rapidly approaching colleagues, he hurtled into the woods with me. The same woods the Porteque men were escaping into. The same woods the wardens were firing bullets toward. One hissed past us now, frighteningly close.

  "Viggo," I panted. "What—?"

  "Don't talk," he breathed, his eyes trained ahead of us.

  I clung to him more tightly as the slope on this side steepened. I pulled myself closer against him, my bloodied hands slipping against the skin behind his neck.

  My heart hammered as I caught sight of silhouettes of the Porteque gang up ahead.

  What is Viggo thinking? Is he going after them? While carrying me? Has he gone mad?

  As I had become almost fully convinced that he was chasing after the criminals, Viggo's direction diverged from them. He swerved diagonally to our left, while they were moving decidedly right.

  The trees became denser as he continued to run, and the bullets no longer reached us. The gunshots grew fainter, and the loudest noises became Viggo's heavy boots crunching in the brushwood and his harried breathing so close to my ear. I could practically feel his heart pounding against me.

  I had never witnessed Viggo so tense. For the first time since I'd met him, he showed fear.

  I needed first aid. I needed to visit a hospital.

  The gushing of water came within earshot. Then a clearing came into view, through which ran a river. Its surface glistened in the moonlight as we approached. Finally, Viggo came to a stop.

  He looked down at me. "Can you stand?"

  "I-I'm not sure."

  He exhaled. "Okay."

  Lowering me gently, he seated me at the edge of the bank. He proceeded to remove his coat, belt and gun and hang it on a branch. Then he returned to me, wearing the same shirt and pants he'd worn earlier in the day before the fight. He sat down next to me and swung his legs into the water and the next thing I knew, he'd dropped into it, submerging his upper chest, still fully clothed. Apparently, he was tall—and steady—enough to touch the bottom, even with the current.

  He winced. "It's cold. But we have to get you cleaned up. There was no time back in that stream."

  I examined myself more closely. It wasn't just my hands, arms and face that had gotten splattered with the blood. There were stains on my neck, upper chest, lower torso and clothes. I removed the torn garments, balled them up, and discarded them in the river. Now I wore only my underwear, which was also stained.

  "Come," he coaxed softly.

  My body tensed up as I slipped off the bank's edge, into his open arms. My chest constricted, my skin breaking out in goosebumps. I wound my arms around Viggo's neck and pulled my body flush against his, for support amidst the current, and for warmth.

  "You're worried I could be punished for killing that man?" I panted against his hair.

  I felt him swallow against my shoulder. A pause ensued.

  "Do you want to know what happened to Miriam? My wife?" His voice was hoarse.

  "What?" I whispered, as my stomach clenched with guilt at the thought that I already knew.

  "She was hanged for defending herself in a situation not all that different from this. She killed an attacker without a neutral witness." Viggo's chest heaved beneath me. I sensed an undercurrent of guilt to his tone. Does he blame himself for her death? "I… I'm not saying the same insane rule would apply to you. Even the court doesn't care much about what happens to these Porteque dregs. But it's no
t worth the risk."

  He created a few inches' gap between us. His eyes studied my arms before he began to run a palm along them, down to my hands, rinsing me of the blood. The current was doing a good job of cleaning my torso and chest on its own.

  "I'll say I killed him if anyone questions it," he continued. "I planted my handprint on the knife."

  "There'll be no consequences for you?"

  "None to speak of."

  "How will you explain both of us being sopping wet when we return?" I asked, shivering as one of his hands ascended to tenderly brush against the side of my face.

  "I'll tell them one of the guys split from the group with you, and I found the two of you crossing a river, where I headed him off. He got away, but I managed to get a hold of you."

  "You're a good liar."

  He gritted his teeth and held my gaze. “Sometimes that's what's required to do what is right in Patrus."

  I looked down, experiencing a spike of discomfort.

  "Okay. I think you're done." He gathered me to him and moved us back to the bank. Climbing out, he settled me on the ground before heading to the branch where he'd hung his possessions. He retrieved the coat and brought it to me, hanging its heavy weight around my shoulders. The smell of him immediately made me feel safe and protected. "Better remove your underwear, too. Just throw it in the river and keep my coat.”

  I breathed in. "Okay. "

  Viggo turned his back on me while I maneuvered my way out of my bra and panties. I hurled them into the river before pulling on his long coat. I fastened up the zipper to my neck. "You can turn around," I murmured.

  He turned and bent down and scooped me up. As he rose and I tightened my grip around his shoulders, I realized my hands were trembling. Aside from the cold, I was still recovering from shock.

  When Viggo began to run again—gripping me as though he feared I might loosen my hold—my cheek fell against his shoulder. His fear was not unfounded. I fought to maintain consciousness, but exhaustion finally claimed me. I faded out.

  27

  I woke to the noise of whirring rotors. I was lying on something soft. Narrow, but comfortable. Someone's palm was pressed on my forehead. I opened my eyes.

  Viggo's handsome face hung over me. His hair was wet, and tied back. His dark brows had been deeply furrowed, but became less so as our eyes locked. He removed his hand from my head. I tried to sit up, but he pushed me back down.

  We were in the belly of some kind of aircraft. The walls were rounded and lined with metal panels. This was the first time I'd ever been in an aircraft, let alone flown in one. The sensation was unsettling. My ears felt blocked.

  I was lying on a cushioned stretcher, Viggo sitting beside me on a stool. Memories of the night washed over me and I relived every terrifying moment. Waking up in the dark and the cold. The lack of control. The fear. The pain. The humiliation. The anger. The relief.

  I was still wrapped in Viggo's coat. I felt its inner lining brush against my bare skin; it took the edge off my still-damp hair and body. I reached up to my face. I had a bandage over my nose.

  I stared up at Viggo. "How did you find me?"

  "Thanks to your husband," Viggo replied. His voice was low, like he hadn't spoken in a while.

  "Lee?" I breathed. "Where is he?"

  "He's back in the city," Viggo explained. "But he was able to communicate to me your location. The moment I realized you were gone, I called him and he was able to guide me and my team."

  "But how would Lee know?"

  Now it was Viggo's turn to look confused. "You didn't know that he has you tracked?"

  My breath hitched. No. I didn't know that.

  Since when had Lee been tracking me?

  I had looked at his computer only recently to watch Viggo's red dot on the map, and I hadn't shown up there. As I turned my mind back to the last few days, I realized he must have done it the night he got annoyed with me. The night I'd told him I had encouraged Viggo to enter the PFL, and potentially mess up our whole schedule. The night Lee had first kissed me.

  Whatever Lee's motives—be they borne out of some kind of possessiveness or not—I could only be grateful now that he had done it. Otherwise, I would have likely died in that dark basement.

  "I did know," I lied, rubbing my head. "I just—with everything, I didn't put two and two together."

  "As soon as we touch down in the city, I'll take you to the hospital. Your husband said that he will be waiting there for you."

  "Okay," I said, swallowing. My mind turned back to earlier. "Hey, what happened with the fight?"

  "Forget the fight!" he growled. "I left the arena as soon as I found you gone. It was that damn attendant, wasn't it? The one who told you to stay in the room."

  I nodded. "And the runaway criminal, from the other day…" The man I killed. I explained to Viggo who else I'd seen, including Ada.

  Viggo scowled. "That arena needs better screening as to who gets in and out. As for the others, I still have men back there making arrests… You remember we saw members from that gang, sitting in the square after the Rosen-Cruz fight. They were watching you, probably trying to find a way to get at you then, too. The gangs of Porteque don't take kindly to women rising above their role, God forbid when it's against one of their own. They took your felling one of them as an insult to their entire clan."

  "They're insane," I breathed.

  "They'd call themselves law-upholding," Viggo said darkly.

  We lapsed into a span of silence. Trying to turn my mind away from the horrors of the night, I thought once again of Viggo's missed fight. He had just… walked out. Abandoning Cruz, the organizers and thousands of fans. Guilt gripped me.

  "Thank you, Viggo," I whispered, my throat thick.

  He didn't acknowledge my words. He averted his gaze over his shoulder. "How much longer?" he called to an unseen colleague.

  "Five minutes," a man called back.

  We sat wordlessly for the rest of the journey. On descending, Viggo slipped his arms beneath me, picking me up again. He carried me out of the aircraft and we emerged on a landing strip on top of a towering building. Surrounding us was Patrus City.

  "How far is the hospital?" I asked him as he carried me through a door which led to a stairwell.

  "This is the hospital."

  His answer came as a disappointment, which confused me. I'd been beaten up; I needed to see a doctor and be treated. But somehow I'd been expecting a little more delay until meeting Lee again… until leaving Viggo.

  Viggo wound down the stairwell and pushed us through a set of double doors, which led us to a bustling hallway. Doctors—all male, of course—were moving in and out of rooms, pushing carts, speaking with patients. And then we spotted Lee, sitting tensely on a bench at the end of the corridor. He sprang up as soon as he spotted us and hurried to close the distance.

  His face was deathly pale. His chest heaved in relief as Viggo transferred me to his arms, Lee's citrusy scent overtaking Viggo's.

  "Good man, Viggo," Lee said hoarsely. "Good man."

  Viggo merely nodded, his green eyes locking with mine for a second longer, before he turned and disappeared down the crowded corridor.

  28

  Lee and I didn't get the opportunity to talk much about what had happened before I was called in for my appointment with Dr. Milman, which turned out to be a lot more intrusive than I had anticipated. In Matrus, all doctors were females (with the exception of just one male who was the son of one of Queen Rina's courtiers). I guessed now I knew what it felt like for Matrus males every time they needed an examination.

  Dr. Milman focused on doing everything he could for my injuries—stitched up the cuts, applied a thick white cream to my burns before bandaging them—and after Lee returned to the room, he informed me that I could leave. He equipped us with several bottles of medication and cream along with extra bandages, and said that the best thing I could do for recovery was rest.

  The doctor arranged for a wheelch
air for Lee to borrow so he didn't have to carry me everywhere. I was still feeling dizzy whenever I stood, but the doctor said that should resolve itself in a day or two.

  Lee wheeled me downstairs and outside to the road where he hailed a taxi. Once inside, I found myself rehashing everything that had happened, with Lee asking for every harrowing detail.

  I was relieved when we arrived back at Lee's house and once inside he carried me up the stairs, to my room. He laid me down on the bed and tucked me beneath the covers.

  "How are you feeling now?" he asked, looking me over with concern as he stood by my bedside.

  My eyelids felt heavy as lead. I needed to sleep.

  Lee took the hint. "I'll leave you alone," he said. "You have to recover as quickly as possible. We have only four days left… Whatever happens, we can't let this interfere with the banquet."

  29

  The banquet.

  As much as I tried to put off thinking about it, the time was drawing too close now. As much as I struggled to continue brushing it aside, I couldn't. I could no longer keep it thrust down to the depths of my subconscious.

  Only four days left.

  Four days, and I will be calling Viggo to the scene of the crime.

  Four days, and I will be framing him for an atrocity he didn't commit.

  Four days, and I will have ruined his life… Maybe given the Court reason to take it from him.

  None of my previous techniques for numbing myself worked anymore. Maybe it was the stillness I was forced to inhabit, the quiet of my room as even Lee left me alone for hours on end.

  It was as if every emotion I'd kept pent up since the beginning of this mission came flooding out at once. Overwhelming me. Drowning me.

  How could I have ever agreed to do this?

  Viggo had rescued me from death and here I was contemplating in only a few sleeps' time, pulling the rug out from under his feet. Stabbing him in the back in the worst possible way. I had made him trust me enough to show his vulnerability: the loss of his wife, his struggle with Patrian society, and his readiness even now to defy the rules. I had become his friend. Why else would he have left the fight to save me if he didn't value our friendship? If he didn't like me? He could have informed Lee of my disappearance and then left the rest of his team to look for me. He'd been off-duty at that time, anyway. He hadn't needed to leave the fight for me, nor had he needed to cover up the murder I'd committed. And yet he'd done all this. He'd foregone the mass of money he could have made from that fight, angered thousands of people, and maybe even put his sparkling future career on the line… all for me.