The Gender Game (19 page)

The mother, a pretty blue-eyed blonde, looked at me with gratitude as I handed her the child.

"Thank you!" she breathed, before the three of them headed back to the seats.

I could guess what she must have been feeling because I knew what it was like to lose a child.

Five minutes later, another announcement was made for the commencement of the next fight. Everybody settled down and Viggo and I resumed our previous watching position, near the glass doors.

By the time the last fight was over, it was deep into the night. I wondered if Lee had intended for me to stay out this late. He had said that I could stay on with Viggo, though, so I guessed that he must have been aware of how long these events could last.

I had a spare key in my pants pocket, anyway, so I wouldn't need to wake him in case he had fallen asleep.

Nothing else noteworthy had happened in Viggo's policing department since we'd spotted the lost child. The two of us waited by the doors until the crowd had piled out and we were alone in the arena except for a few employees tidying up. All the other wardens had left already.

Viggo sighed, his eyes raking over the seats on the ground floor one last time, before turning to face the main entrance. "We're done," he said.

His green eyes were glassy and he looked tired. I pitied him. He not only had to drive me back to Lee's, but then he had his own journey to make to his cabin in the mountains. I wondered if on nights like this he ever regretted insisting on living so far away from everyone.

We left the stadium and emerged in the square. It was still busy out here. The crowds were dallying, standing, and talking excitedly about the fight, while others were piling into eateries that lined the adjoining street.

As we crossed the open plaza, a trio of men caught my eye. They were sitting squarely in front of the stadium's entrance, on one of the benches. They wore boots and their general scruffy demeanor reminded me of the men we'd chased yesterday. On examining them closer, I realized that they even had the same triangular tattoos beneath their right eye.

And they were staring right at me.

As they rose to their feet, I tugged on Viggo's coat sleeve. I tried to point them out to him discreetly, which was difficult, considering their focus was zoomed in on me.

"Those guys," I whispered, raising myself on my tiptoes to get closer to Viggo's ear while turning my back on them. "You see their tattoos? They're from the same gang who was involved in the kidnapping yesterday."

"Yes," Viggo said and stopped still to meet their gaze. His fists clenched and then he began walking toward them, with me trailing along after him.

He cleared his throat as we approached. "Evening,
gentlemen
," he said tersely. "What might you be staring at?"

It was unsettling that their attention remained on me, even as Viggo addressed them.
Why me?
What's so interesting about me?

Their focus ought to be solely on Viggo, and getting the hell out of here before getting themselves into trouble with him.

"Something wrong?" Viggo pressed.

The man in the middle with scraggly black hair looked steadily back at Viggo, not appearing the slightest bit intimidated.

"Is there a problem?" he asked coolly. "Is it a crime to sit here?"

"No," Viggo replied. His eyes raked over their tattoos. "But considering that you belong to the same gang as your friends who were arrested yesterday, I suggest you not get too cocky around here…" Viggo's glare intensified. "Know what I'm saying?"

"Not sure what you mean by 'gang,' sir," he replied. "You have no evidence that we belong to anything."

Viggo didn't bother arguing with him. These guys were gutsy. Used to living on the edge of the law, pushing its borders as hard as they could.

All three men's focus returned to me once more, their eyes dark and threatening, before they stalked off.

Viggo drew in a shallow breath as they turned down an alleyway. Then he glanced down at me, a slight look of concern in his eyes… Concern which, in turn, unsettled me.

"Why didn't you, like, arrest them or something?" I asked. "Isn't the tattoo evidence enough that they belong to the same gang?"

"It's not solid enough evidence. I can't simply arrest someone for having a tattoo. Or sitting and staring."

"So you're just letting them go," I murmured. "Letting them wander off into the city…"

"You seem to forget that I don't make the rules around here," Viggo reminded me pointedly.

"And why were they looking at me?"

"We can only speculate, can't we?" he said, before closing his hand around my wrist and leading me away from the square. We headed to the street that led back to the promenade. "We didn't manage to catch that guy who ran away," Viggo explained. "The escapee likely told his friends about the wardens who got involved in the kidnapping—and no doubt also mentioned you. It's not every day that a woman takes down a man in an arrest. In fact, I bet it's never happened in all of this nation's history—at least, certainly not the way you did it."

His grip tightened on me as we entered the crowded street, as if afraid I might slip away somehow. He remained holding me just as firmly until we had left the bustling promenade and returned to the parking lot where he had left his motorbike.

He opened up his seat and lowered his guns into the compartment.

"So…" I blew out, leaning against one of the bike's handles. "What's happening tomorrow then? Will I see you in the morning?"

He shook his head. He refastened the seat lid before meeting my eyes. "No. I have a day off tomorrow."

"A day off, huh? I guess that means you'll be fighting then?" I recalled a fight noted in the schedule I'd peeked at in his gym, but since he had already told me he spent his spare time in fights, this was hardly an amazing guess on my part.

"Yes, actually," he said. "I'll be at training throughout the day and then in the evening, I have a fight."

"Where?"

"Brunswick Arena."

Same small place as last time.

"I see." I wet my lower lip. An awkward span of silence descended between us. Suddenly neither of us were sure what to say—or, apparently, do—next. We stood, just looking at each other. Then, with equal awkwardness, we started speaking at once.

"I would—"

"You could—"

We both stalled, sharing a smirk.

"Ladies first," Viggo said, his eyes warming with his expression.

"I was just going to say that I, um, wouldn't mind tagging along with you tomorrow, if
you
don't mind."

He glanced down at his hands. "Yeah, I, uh… Seeing that you like fights so much, I was gonna say you could come to see my fight in the evening. If you wanted to. I could pick you up at about seven.”

My smile broadened.
It's a date.

V
iggo sped
me back to Lee's home and stayed on his bike watching as I approached the house and made sure that I got inside okay.

Lee was still awake. He opened the door, emerging in his pajamas and carrying a mug of tea. I turned back toward Viggo to wave that he could go, but he was already riding off.

"How did the day go?" Lee asked. We headed to the kitchen. "You hungry?"

"No, thanks. And it went fine. Not much happened. Viggo had work to do in his office, then we headed to the Rosen-Cruz fight. We stayed until the end of the event and then he brought me straight back." I poured myself a glass of water before sinking into a chair opposite Lee. "Oh, and he's off work tomorrow," I added. "But he's invited me to attend his fight in the evening. Said he'd come to pick me up around seven. He's going to get there a bit early."

"Brunswick?" Lee asked.

"Yeah."

"Hm." He sipped from his mug.

"What?" I'd been expecting him to say something encouraging, like it was a good idea that I had accepted the invitation. I was supposed to be getting close to Viggo.

"Nothing," he said. He gave me a furtive glance. "I just, um… I don't want you to get carried away with this task."

"Carried away? What are you talking about?"

He sighed. "I just mean, keep sight of the goal… why you're seeing him in the first place."

My throat tightened. The "goal" in regards to Viggo was something I had to forget. Lee didn't understand. For my, my brother's, Lee's and Matrus' sake, I had to bury our plan for Viggo deep. Otherwise I couldn't do what was required of me.

"As long as you keep that goal in mind," Lee went on, "you'll automatically do and say the right things, and everything will run smoothly."

I nodded, though I knew I couldn't do what he was asking of me. I would pull this off in my own way. I knew myself and how I worked better than him.

I needed to change the subject.

"So what have you been up to?" I asked him.

"Preparing the site," Lee replied, rubbing his forehead. He looked exhausted. "It's not a simple process. A bunch of hoops to jump through, and each step has to be carried out gradually, slowly, and steadily, so that I don't cause suspicion in anyone. The attendees have been almost confirmed, also… even King Maxen might make an appearance this year… There will be a lot of moving pieces when the night finally arrives. A lot of moving pieces indeed."

I nodded briefly again before getting to my feet. "Yeah. Well, I'm going to bed."

"Good night, Violet," Lee said, looking up and offering me a small smile as I moved past him. A smile I couldn't quite bring myself to return right now.

I just wanted to shut myself in my room, throw myself into bed, and lose myself in sleep…

* * *

I
slept in late
. By the time I came downstairs, Lee had left already for the city. I had another empty day ahead of me before this evening.

I didn't want to risk taking Samuel out again. I had already pushed the law enough since arriving here. So, I found myself heading up to Lee's room. I sat in front of his computer, which had been left unlocked, then navigated to the map of Patrus and stared at the five red moving dots. I could guess which one Viggo was—he was already at his gym. I wondered what he was practicing now. Whether he even had a trainer, or if he always prepared for fights on his own. Then I found myself watching the other four dots and wondering who those people were. One of them was roaming the outskirts of the city, while the other three were near the city center, the latter, like Viggo, pretty stationary.

I lost track of how much time I spent sitting in Lee's bedroom. But as afternoon bled into early evening, I returned to the garden, a pile of psychology books tucked beneath one arm. My attempts to focus on reading were shattered, however, when… I heard it again—a woman's cry, coming from the other side of Lee's back yard fence. Number thirty-two.

Dropping my book, I hurried to the fence and listened, trying to catch the words that the upset woman was speaking. I was too far away to hear them. Her speech was muffled.

I ran back inside the house to the kitchen and looked up at the clock. Ten minutes to seven. Viggo should be arriving anytime now and then we could dash around the corner and he could witness the noise for himself. But, fearing it would stop again before Viggo got here, I began looking for some kind of recording device or a camera. I rummaged through all of Lee's cupboards but failed to find anything I could use.
Dammit. I should have asked Lee if he had a camera.
But then I heard a roaring engine entering the front drive of the house.

Viggo had arrived.

I thundered down the stairs and, grabbing a set of spare keys, raced out to him. He smiled faintly on seeing me, but his expression soon turned to surprise as I dashed toward him like I was being chased.

"Number thirty-two!" I hissed. "It's started again…" I went quiet, straining to hear. Yes, I could make it out from the front yard, although it was very faint.

"Let's get closer," Viggo said. "Get on the bike."

I climbed onto the seat behind him. Wrapping my arms around his waist, he tore up the road and stopped on the sidewalk opposite the house.

We got off the motorbike and moved by foot to the other side of the road, where we ducked down beneath a line of bushes. We held our breath, listening as the noise continued. More smashing had started. More pleas. Our faces inches apart, our eyes locked as we concentrated.

"Okay," Viggo said after a minute. "I've heard enough. First thing tomorrow morning, I'll lodge a complaint and have a colleague take the man in for questioning."

"Good," I said, breathing out in relief. Hopefully whatever was going on in there would be stopped sooner rather than later.

"You know, Violet," Viggo said as we began rolling back down the mountain, "you
should
have become a warden.”

A
rriving at the Brunswick Arena
, we descended to the basement and headed through one of the doors at the back of the auditorium. We passed down a narrow corridor and turned through another door into a small rectangular changing room equipped with a punching bag, a bench, a locker, towels, and other items of clothing. I also spotted a second door which led into an adjoined bathroom.

Viggo dumped his bag on the bench before sliding off his coat. Turning his back on me, he removed his black t-shirt. My eyes roamed his chiseled back, watching his muscles ripple as he rummaged in his bag for a pair of black shorts—the same pair he'd worn to his previous fight. He scooped up a towel and moved to the bathroom. "Taking a shower," he grunted. "Helps clear my head before a fight."

Viggo spent twenty minutes in the bathroom before emerging. His hair went straight and almost black when it was wet. The darkness of it somehow accentuated the sharpness of his eyes. His standing there damp and bare-chested made him look like some kind of wild, rugged warrior… and more attractive than I'd ever seen him.

He reached into a pocket at the side of his bag and pulled out a hair tie, fastening his long hair back. Then he pulled out a roll of bandage from his bag and began wrapping it around his knuckles. He used tape to tighten it before standing up and approaching the punching bag. He began to hit it, his punches gradually building in power, until the bag was swinging all over the place, hardly able to catch a break.

"Why don't you wear those thicker, tougher fingerless gloves I've seen the other fighters wear?" I asked him. "Why only bandages? Aren't you more likely to get injured?"

"Yes," he replied. "But it's standard at my level of fighting."

That made no sense to me. "What do you mean?"

"It's what the crowd is used to watching at sub-level. A portion of them prefer sub-level fights for this reason; it's less regulated. More danger involved without hard gloves. More pain."

"Sounds grim," I muttered.

He chose not to comment.

My eyes wandered again around the room. I noticed a pair of flat, cushioned gloves hanging from a hook near the locker. They were apparently designed for a trainer to catch punches. I reached for them and slid them on absentmindedly, as I flexed my wrists.

"Hey," I said, standing and raising my gloved hands. "Want to have a go at punching me instead?"

He paused and turned to me, his expression quickly turning incredulous.

"Why not?" I asked. "Nobody's watching."

He merely shook his head before resuming his focus on the punching bag.

I quirked a brow. "You don't think I can handle it?"

He didn't stop punching to face me this time as he replied through sharp breaths, "I can't throw a punch at a woman."

Hm.

I’d wanted to attempt to recreate the feeling I’d experienced in my gym sparring match with Viggo. But it seemed that wasn’t going to happen.

Not wanting to be pushy, I sat down again, glaring at my gloves. Still, I couldn't help but inform him, "I've fought girls as strong as men before." My mind turned back to Dina. Not as strong as Viggo, of course, but he didn't need to know that.

"It doesn't matter how strong you are," Viggo breathed. "I saw how you took down that guy in the street. I know you're skilled. But if you asked me to punch you, it wouldn't be a punch. It would be a nudge, a light jab at the most."

He worked himself up into another flurry of punches until he appeared to be satisfied that he'd warmed up enough. He backed away from the punching bag, tightening his bandages.

"Okay. How about I punch you? " It wouldn’t be the same as in the gym, but it would be better than nothing.

Viggo smirked. "That I could allow…"

I rose to my feet, removing the training gloves from my hands and handing them to him. But, on taking them from me, he discarded them on the floor. Apparently, he was going to use his bare palms as my target.
Suit yourself.

He dipped into his bag and retrieved the roll of bandage. He moved to me, reaching for my hands, but I shook my head. "Come on," I said, rolling my eyes. "We're only going to be at it for a few minutes. You're gonna have to leave for the fight soon."

Still, he looked reluctant. "And what will I tell your husband if you go home to him with bruised knuckles? I already returned you once with grazed knees."

"My knuckles aren't made of flower petals," I replied.

He hesitated a moment more before resuming his position in front of me. "All right," he said, the corners of his mouth twitching in a half smile. He raised a daring brow. "We've got ten minutes. Have at me."

A rush ran through my body as I clenched my fists. Although he wouldn’t see me eye to eye, Viggo was still a dream sparring partner. I had been one of the toughest girls in my defense classes; a lot of the other girls couldn't take blows as hard as I could throw them and I'd often ended up partnered with Ms. Dale for that reason. But with Viggo… I didn't have to hold back. He could take anything I threw at him. Plus, I didn’t have any facial hair to worry about keeping in place.

I approached him, aiming my first swipe at his right palm, which was rock hard. But the contact felt good. Like scratching an itch. I threw a punch at his left palm, then right again, before moving on to a kicking combination. As my right foot rose to his stomach, he blocked it—firmly enough that I didn't reach him, but not hard enough to cause a bruise.

When I moved to punch him again, he surprised me by catching my wrist. He spun me around, my back against his chest, where he held me in a firm lock. I hadn't expected him to elevate the game. I supposed this was as close as he was going to get in treating me equally in terms of fighting.

Having been trained to get out of this kind of hold before, my next move was wired in my brain. It came as mere instinct for my right leg to slip backward and jerk forward. I caught him at the back of his right knee. He hadn't been expecting that, either. He lost balance, causing the two of us to tumble to the floor. I quickly scrambled to gain an advantage while he lay on his back. Gripping his arms and pressing them hard against the floor, I straddled his hips. I leaned over, my face leveling with his. As our eyes met, we both broke out in a tense laugh.

"Surrender?" I asked him.

I felt his stomach muscles tauten against my thighs. He narrowed his eyes. "Is that what you think this is?"

I didn't get a chance to respond, or see what he'd do next, as a sharp rapping at the door brought reality spiraling back.

Viggo cursed. I leapt off him and he stood up just in time before the door swung open.

Being in Patrus, there wouldn't have been an awful lot of ways a married woman and an unmarried man could have explained that position.

Catching my breath, I smoothed down my top and tried to pretend I'd just risen from the bench when a white-haired man poked his head through the doorway. Surprise registered in his eyes on seeing me here, but he quickly focused on Viggo.

"You're on in twenty-five minutes," he said.

"Yes, I know," Viggo said tightly. I could see he was trying to steady his breathing too. And was there a slight flush to his cheeks? It felt like there might be to mine.