The Gender War (The Gender Game #4) Bella Forrest (best summer reads .txt) 📖

at the moment, and marched out. I could hear the young man muttering something about us all being stubborn as I went down the corridor.

Unfortunately for my sleep-addled brain, I had one more task to handle before I could call it a night.

I made my way up to the second dining room, which was a long room filled with an almost, but not quite as long, table. I hooked a left, coming through the doorway to the main hall. It was flanked on either side by a set of stairs that connected briefly in the middle, led up a few more steps, and then broke apart again in opposite directions—both leading to the second floor, of course. I made my way up the staircase.

First, I checked on Violet. I found the correct room on the second try. Violet was passed out in the middle of the bed, on top of the covers, still completely clothed, her newly bandaged hand splayed out. Her clothes were filthy—they were the same ones she’d been wearing in The Green, just like mine—and her long, dark hair spread across from the covers, tangled and knotted, coming out of the ponytail she often sported. I watched her breathing for a long time. The grime that covered her body did not make her any less beautiful.

I wanted nothing more than to go to sleep right then—no, to go to sleep beside her, her warmth against me and her breathing lulling me into slumber. But I put my exhaustion and desire aside, pulling the door closed behind me. There was another thing I just had to check before I went to bed.

I headed to Amber’s room, relying solely on the abbreviated tour Jeff had given us earlier that day. I remembered we had gone left from the stairs and her room had double doors, unlike the rest of the rooms on the left.

I took three wrong turns before I found it—but I had located the servants’ stairs during the process, so that was something. When I finally did find her room, I rapped loudly on the door and waited.

“Who is it?” came Amber’s voice from the other side of the door.

“It’s Viggo—can I come in?”

There was a long pause, followed by, “Yes, you may.”

I opened the door and stepped inside, pushing it closed behind me. It was easy not to react to her room in my current state, but if I had been any less tired, I might have been inclined to laugh. Various shades of pink and purple seemed to have exploded everywhere—covering the walls, the bed, the carpet, and the curtains. The room looked like it had been designed by every anti-Matrian person who ever lived, redolent with frills and lace, stuffed animals, and a three-story dollhouse.

“Um, wow… This… is… a room,” I said, looking at Amber. She was sitting with her legs crossed in the middle of her bed, a giant teddy bear held against her chest, her chin resting on top of it.

“Do you like it?” she asked, her face and tone expressing nothing.

“For you? No—decidedly not.”

She looked at the walls, her eyes tracing over the lines of painted-on flowers. “Yeah—not exactly my thing.” She turned back to me, her eyes guarded. “What are you doing here?” she asked.

“Two things. The first is… why did you shoot your father?”

She arched a red eyebrow. “Because I was angry,” she replied tartly.

“No—I mean… I don’t get it. Your father wasn’t lying—your mother died in an accident. So why did that prompt you to shoot him?”

“Because I couldn’t shoot her,” she replied, addressing me as if I were a complete moron for not understanding.

To be honest, I felt like a moron—I still had no idea what Amber’s issue was. “Can you elaborate?” I asked.

A muscle in her jaw twitched. “Why do you need to know?” she demanded through clenched teeth.

“Well, I was going to ask if you’d be willing to sit in the security room for a few hours and let me get some sleep. But that was predicated on knowing two things. One—will you contact Desmond? And two—will you try to murder your father while we’re sleeping?”

She glared at me but then sighed, looking away. “Do you like my prison?” she asked. “Do you know that the doors lock from the outside? I can’t open the windows in this room because they’ve been nailed shut. And—oh yeah—if you open that closet right there, you’ll see the wedding gown my mother picked out for my marriage to a man I had never met before. All because my father lost a lot of money, and instead of selling any one of the millions of things he doesn’t need, he decided to marry me off in exchange for forgiveness of his gambling debt.”

I took a step back, stunned by the visceral hatred in her voice. Amber tossed the teddy bear aside and got off the bed. “Do you get it?” she breathed. “Do you get why I have a hard time believing you about Desmond? She saved me from this… this… nightmare. She gave me hope, and let me talk about what I liked, or didn’t like, what I wanted or didn’t want. And she listened. She wants… She told us we could change things here. Make it so other girls didn’t ever have to deal with this broken system. Human beings shouldn’t be somebody’s property, Viggo. And she gave me a chance to do something about it.”

She paused to draw breath, then continued, “My parents treated me like a thing—a disposable thing. Desmond treated me like a person. And because of you and Violet… I betrayed her.”

I stared at her, at a loss for what to say or how I could even begin to make things right. Amber stared at me for a few seconds and then sadly shook her head. “Forget it,” she said, rubbing her nose. “I’ll watch the security feed for you. I won’t kill my dad, and I will let you know if Desmond,