The Girl Who Dared to Think Bella Forrest (best classic literature txt) 📖

stun baton finally caught him in the side. He went down, his clothes smoking faintly. Roark followed with a cry of pain, and then Gerome was standing over us, his face grim, eyes narrowed.

Gerome had always been better than me. Better than anyone, really. I had been above and beyond him in lashing, but his combat skill was legendary. Never in my wildest dreams had I thought I would need to fight the man in earnest, but now he stood here, in my sanctuary, looming over my friends with his weapon drawn. And now that it was happening, I couldn’t let him win.

I lashed the ceiling and used the momentum from the mechanisms in the harness to haul me up, one leg thrusting out to kick the baton out of his hand, the other catching him across the cheek so hard that he doubled over and stumbled back a few steps. I dropped to the ground and scooped up the baton, then exploded forward in a burst of motion, intent on stunning him into submission.

His hand whipped out and caught me on the jaw, and I spun, crashed into a bookshelf, and fell, books raining down on me as pain radiated up and down the side of my face.

I groaned, but would have made it to my feet if it weren’t for the baton that smashed into my side. Lights danced before my eyes, and I felt every nerve in my body come alive with pain. I jerked for a moment, feeling my own sweat vaporizing off my skin and rising in a hot steam from my body. When my vision cleared, Gerome was standing over me.

There were tears in his eyes.

All I could do was stare as he looked down at me, the tears falling liberally down his cheeks. I was lost as to how to process the sight of him crying. It was alarming—this wasn’t like him at all.

Then the baton in his hand let out a roar of power as he loomed over me, sending a shot of fear straight down my spine.

“You were the daughter I never had,” he said. His eyes flicked up, and he leveled his baton toward where the two men lay. “Don’t you move, old man. I’ll do the same to you.”

I heard Roark let out a curse, and watched him struggle to his hands and knees.

“You’re a murderer,” the old man hissed. “You come into my home, trying to make us feel guilty when you kill people for a living. You call yourselves Knights? I call you Scipio’s assassins!”

Gerome’s face contorted with fury, but as he took a step forward, a chime rang out. It was so calm, so kind and incongruous with the moment, that it took me a moment to recognize the source. Gerome’s wrist.

The man paused, then quickly reached into his crimson uniform and drew something out. I blinked, stunned. It couldn’t be. Gerome was perfect. A ten. A man beyond reproach.

In his hand, he clutched a bottle of fat, red pills.

“I’ll be with you in one moment,” he said hoarsely, and drew one out, then swallowed it back with a grimace. He drew in a sharp breath, and in that motion, I saw the tears vanish from his eyes. The hesitation went out of him like smoke being struck by a harsh wind.

“Now,” he said, moving to stand over me. I forced my burning nerves to move, crawling to a sitting position and using the motion to disguise my left hand under my body as I pulled out the tip of the lash and palmed it in my fist. If I could hit my baton with it, I could reel it over and maybe we would stand a chance. I saw Grey struggling to his own feet from the corner of my eye.

“You’re going to come with m—”

Gerome’s words cut off as a loud crack sounded. I could only stare as he half-turned, then slumped, his eyes rolling back as he crumpled to the ground.

A young girl, perhaps thirteen or fourteen, now stood in place behind him. She was small and thin, her skin the color of porcelain, so pale I could see the light coloring of her veins. Her white-blonde hair was cut into a shaggy bob, tousled wildly around her face. She had bright blue eyes that were wide with alarm and mortification. And in her hands was a massive wrench, one edge stained with red.

25

For a moment, all I could do was stare as the newcomer dropped the wrench and stepped over Gerome’s body, an uncertain smile flickering on her lips.

“I’m so sorry about that,” she said shakily, gesticulating toward Gerome’s still form. “I just...” Her hand fluttered. “Oh dear, this is a terrible way of making an introduction.”

I stared blankly at the young girl, my body still in agony from the brutality of Gerome’s attack, and then struggled to my feet. “I think... under the circumstances, we can overlook the oddity.” The look I received from the girl was one of pure gratitude. “What’s your name?”

“Oh! I didn’t say? No, of course I didn’t say. What was I thinking?” She sighed, her fingers dancing in front of her, and then nodded. “Christian. Tian for short.”

I smiled in spite of the severity of the situation. “Don’t most people choose ‘Chris?’”

Tian nodded, her head moving rapidly up and down, her blue eyes wide. “Oh, yes... but most of them don’t like me being a Chris, so I got Tian. It’s okay, I like Tian. It’s nice to be different. This whole Tower is full of Chrises, and—”

She trailed off as I bent over and placed two fingers to Gerome’s neck, her body trembling. “Is he...? Did I...?”

I shook my head. Gerome’s pulse was strong and true under my fingers. “He’s fine,” I said. “Which means he won’t be out for long. Roark, give me one of those memory pills?”

“Memory pills?” Tian echoed, her eyes darting back to the two men picking themselves off the