The Gender Game 2 Bella Forrest (novels to read .txt) 📖

death. With the Porteque gang, they were the living dead, their agony lasting for years.

I had no qualms about lying to these bastards, or telling them the truth to get them to stick their heads out so I could kill them. I was not a murderer by nature, but I had seen some of the rescued victims of their “re-education” program, and in this case, I was willing to make an exception.

“Yeah,” I shouted back.

The man in the kitchen laughed, a cruel sound. “I wish I could believe that, but I recognize you. You rescued her after she murdered my brother, and you let her get away with it!”

With that declaration, he fired, the bullets hitting the wall next to me, spraying me with plaster and chunks of wall. I raised a hand, protecting my eyes. This was not going well. Time for a new plan.

I moved back down the hallway swiftly, heading into Lee’s bedroom. I shut the door, locked it, and pushed the heavy dresser against it for good measure. It would buy me some time, but not much.

Darting to the window, I ducked down low, and then glanced out quickly over the backyard, looking to see if they had posted a guard in the street beyond it. It seemed deserted, but lights were beginning to come on from the other houses.

I debated what to do—if the neighbors had heard the gunshots, which was likely, they were already calling the wardens to inform them of the trouble, but there was no way that they would get here in time to assist me.

I began stripping the bed. I had never actually tied bedsheets together to form a rope, but I was fairly good with knots. I quickly began tying the ends together, making a makeshift rope. I was three stories up, but falling even one story was better than falling three. It took no time for me to tie them together and anchor them using the bedframe.

I was a heavy guy, but luckily the bedframe was heavy, too. It would hopefully support my weight on the descent. I tossed the bundle of sheets out the window, just as the doorknob began to rattle.

“Got him! He’s in here,” came an excited voice. I fired my gun in the direction of the door, not meaning to hit anyone, but spook them.

“Nobody’s home,” I called dryly as I grabbed the sheets, wrapping them around my arm and around my waist, in a makeshift rappelling line.

I straddled the window sill, keeping one leg over it as I slowly tested my weight on the line. My heart was pounding as I did, because if the knots failed or my hand slipped, I would fall face first into the asphalt below. There was a slamming sound against the door, and I smiled grimly. The sheets were holding my weight. By the time they got the door opened, I would be at the bottom.

I took a deep breath and removed my other leg from where it was hooked over the sill. Bracing my feet against the wall, I started to let myself down a few inches when an urgent whine grabbed my attention.

Looking up, I saw Samuel, his front paws scrambling on the window sill. He must have been hiding in one corner of the room. He was shaking, his soft brown eyes wide and full of panic. He whined again, trying to climb up on the sill.

For a second I hung there, just staring at the canine while my mind churned on what to do. Then, with a low groan, I climbed back up.

The door was thudding harder now, and I could hear the scraping of the dresser’s legs on the floor as each impact pushed it back.

“If you get me killed, then I am revoking your man’s best friend card,” I muttered as I grabbed the dog and tucked him under my arm. I started to leave, and then, remembering, I pulled my gun and fired two rounds into the computer on the desk. I heard the doorknob break as I tucked the gun back into the holster. Quickly, I swung out of the window, one hand on the sheets, my other arm trying to keep a hold on the dog.

Rappelling this way was difficult, especially because the dog was struggling against me. “Stop it,” I hissed, repositioning him over my shoulder.

The dog gave a high pitched whimper, but I ignored it, as I focused on using one hand and both legs to lower myself down to the ground. I wanted to move faster, but one wrong move and we would both drop. It was hard, but I had to be patient.

I neared the bottom, my shoulder aching from the strain. The makeshift rope swung about five feet above the driveway. If I could make it to the end, my feet would be touching the ground no problem.

Just then, I heard a commotion coming from the third floor. Looking up, I saw a head poke out of the window, and felt a tug on the rope. I knew they weren’t pulling me back in. Glancing down, I gauged the distance, took a deep breath, and let go.

The sensation of falling had always been disconcerting to me. It was the sudden weightlessness that overcame you, where the only indication that you were falling was the air racing past your ears.

I bent my knees to absorb the impact, but it was still harder than I wanted, and I fell to the side, remembering to cradle the dog to my chest to avoid him getting injured.

“He jumped,” shouted one of the men.

I snatched my gun from the holster, and fired at the head that poked out from the window. He slumped, my aim true, and I heard the remaining two men curse, dragging his limp form back through the window.

I took the opportunity to escape. Standing up, I raced to my bike. I was relieved to see it untouched. I opened up a large side bag and