Page 96 of Retrograde

“And why is it that you keep insisting on embarrassing me?”

“Maybe because you keep embarrassing me! Why is she here?” I jerk my head in Riley’s direction.

She flashes me a shy, unhappy look. I’m no idiot. I know she doesn’t want to be here any more than I want her here, but that’s not my problem. How the fuck someone like her can do what she does is beyond me. I’ve never seen anyone resemble a lost puppy so much before.

“Lower your voice and sit the fuck down,” Papa grunts, growing red in the face.

My name tag is two places down. The supposed star of the party, and I don’t even get to sit in the centre of the table because my spot is taken by some freckled twat who was the rebels’ most popular mascot only a year ago. I’m not fucking doing this.

“She needs to go, or I’m not staying!”

“I will go!” Riley volunteers in a weak voice, but Papa speaks over her.

“She is staying. You sit the fuck down.”

He isn’t shouting, but his voice is loud and forceful, and several people turn their heads.

“Looks like the vultures will have a field day today, Papa.”

Before he can react or stop me, I turn around and walk out. But not before grabbing a martini from the tray of a harried waiter passing me by. My teeth sink into the olive, salty juices coating my tongue, and I waltz back into the hall, ready to twirl and smile for the cameras. Ready to show them that Papa may have the whole Continuum under his control for now, but he sure as shit doesn’t get to control me.

And because I’m me, I promise myself for my birthday that one day I’ll find a way to show him, too. Preferably by teaching his favourite puppy to bite him in the ass.

36

RILEY

It only takes a few days for Aron and me to settle into a rhythm that’s comfortable if not exactly harmonious. He usually departs early in the morning, leaving me alone like he did on my first day here, except now he always brings some breakfast up for me before heading out.

I wake up late, when the sun’s already high up in the sky, tangled in the sheets and with Aron’s taste still in my mouth and his phantom touch on my skin. I lie in, then take a shower. The pipes creak in protest before spurting out a burst of water that’s either too hot or too cold, but never anything in between.

I make coffee and eat my food leisurely before lying back down to read one of Aron’s shockingly detailed erotic novels that he doesn’t know I’ve discovered in a box underneath the bed. When the sunlight mellows out with an approaching sunset, I hide it back and nap, resting before Aron comes home, tense from having spent the day in preparation for the Abyss Gorge ambush—an operation he tells me almost nothing about. On most days, he drags me into the shower with him, and by the time he carries me back out, my legs are already wrapped around his hips, and his cock is lodged deep inside of me.

The first fuck of the night is always rough and quick, almost desperate, like he’s satisfying a gnawing hunger that nothing else can satisfy.

He never lets me clean up after—we always go to dinner with his cum still leaking out of me. He also never leaves my side in the mess hall. I’m mostly grateful for that, even if I wish I could have a private conversation with Corrado. But the other Retrogrades scare me. All large and bulky, most tattooed, many scarred, they all look like killing machines who have been through far too much to be capable of normal human emotions. The irony of feeling safe with the most dangerous one of them all is not lost on me, but I don’t question it. How could I, when every day after dinner he leads me back upstairs and without fail my legs turn to jelly mid-ladder from anticipation, because I already know my body’s about to spend a big portion of the descending night shorting under his touch like it’s making up for lost time.

For those few days that seem to stretch for eternity and go by in a heartbeat at the same time, I don’t question anything. I don’t ask to speak to Corrado. I don’t ask about my camera or our laptop. I don’t ask what Aron’s planning to do with our photo proving the Continuum’s involvement in Rift Day. And I certainly don’t ask any questions about us, about who we’ve become for each other. Whether that’s because I know how I’d answer those questions, or because I have no idea how he would, I couldn’t tell.

This cannot go on forever. It cannot. And yet day after day I keep pretending that it can, making no effort to tear myself out of this limbo of existing for little else than his and my pleasure. Because I find as much comfort as I do shame in being nothing more than Aron’s plaything, freed of all responsibility and devoid of any thoughts beyond a preferred position for the evening. Because on some level, I want to stay this way.

ARON

The day has come. The advancing offensive has been successfully delayed by the water incident at Revnik and then redirected to Fort Bayer. Based on our intel, today is the day it will pass through the Abyss Gorge, one of its walls already spiked with dynamite in its narrowest section.

I’m dressed already and securing my tactical belt when Riley stirs, rubbing her eyes.

“What? Is it today?” she asks when she takes in my apparel.

She sits up fast, fully awake and alert.

“Yes,” I grunt. “I may be back later than usual. I’ll bring you enough food up before I go.”

I may not come back at all if things go south. Normally, I wouldn’t give a shit. But after the fiasco with Attila, unwelcome concerns keep gnawing at me. What might someone do to her if I’m not here? Especially if word gets out that there’s such an outrageous fucking bounty on her head. I’ve forbidden anyone from going into town since I found out. But it’s only a matter of time, and I have no idea what to do about it, how to keep her away from the shitstorm that I know is coming. But I can’t worry about that right now. Not today.

“Hello!” Her sharp voice jolts me, tearing me away from my thoughts. “I asked, were you even going to tell me before leaving?”

I’m on edge and in no mood for discussions, adrenaline already flooding my system and the familiar feeling of crushing heaviness resting on my chest and shoulders—thrill and terror colliding.