Page 45 of Retrograde

“And just what the fuck are you doing with the girl?” Lena’s voice is sharp and accusing, commanding my attention.

And here we fucking go. I have my ways of shutting up unwanted voices and unsought-for arguments. But sadly, none that I have the stomach to use on a scavenger.

“What?” I ask like I’ve no idea what she means.

“Riley. Is she your fuck-toy or your prisoner or what? She looks like she hasn’t slept, eaten or been outside for a while.”

“She’s not my fuck-toy,” I assure her dryly, even as something in the thought tickles me more than I’d like to admit. “She’s a traitor. You know what I do with traitors.”

Lena shifts in her seat, her mouth hanging open. Her eyes dart in the direction of my tableau before returning to my face.

“You cannot be serious!” she gasps.

I shrug and draw my knife, tracing patterns in the dirt.

“Aron, come the fuck on. Are you a fucking Reprobate now? You wouldn’t ... you can’t!”

My anger flares, buzzing right under my skin. “Why the fuck not?” I snap. “Because she’s young and beautiful?”

“Because she’s on our side!” Lena shuffles closer to me until she’s right in my face, forcing me to look at the outrage in her expression. “Since when do you not trust my word?”

“I trust your word.” My tone is lethal. “I just don’t give a shit. Nothing can erase what she did.”

I flip the knife in the air, catching it, over and over.

“Use your brain, Aron. Tristan already sees you as more of a liability than an asset. He made it clear he wants to get more people on the inside. What do you think he’ll do when he hears he could’ve had this one and you took her out of the game?”

I stab the ground at hearing that man’s name. He may have managed to unite all the rebel groups, and for that he had my grudging respect for a while. But he lost it all by assuming this made him my boss.

“I don’t give a shit what Tristan wants. Just because he can stomach working with traitors doesn’t mean I have to,” I snarl. “As for her, you can’t expect me to forget what she did just because she’s beautiful.”

“You keep talking about beautiful, not me,” she points out. “Aron, she is so young. And she’s been through so much.”

Her words gnaw at me more than I’d like to admit.

“Can’t you see? She was a victim more than anything.”

I open my mouth to contradict her. But then I recall Riley telling me matter-of-factly that she had been raped three times, but only twice on the job. I remember the photos of her from when she was shot and beaten. I remember how shocked I was when she first emerged, and instead of stopping her, the world collectively decided to turn her into a symbol, pressuring her to keep going no matter the staggering risks to her life. I remember signing a petition stating that she was being exploited by others’ greed when she should’ve been protected instead. I close my mouth, vaguely ashamed.

“Mercy is a vice,” I growl, grinding my teeth.

“What about forgiveness? Is that a vice too?”

“More often than not.”

“Come on, Aron. Don’t tell me you feel good about this?”

My stomach clenches, and my chest hurts.

“It doesn’t matter how I feel. It’s about right or wrong. Rule number one, traitors don’t get second chances. No exceptions. I’m an extinct breed, a man who lives by his principles.”

“What you are is wrath on legs,” she scoffs. “I’ve known you for five years. And year after year, I’ve watched you grow angrier and angrier. Your wrath became your religion, your moral compass, your sole purpose in life.”

“You say this like there aren’t so many good fucking reasons to be ang⁠—”

“I think that girl is making you feel things other than anger. She’s making you care about things other than your anger. And I think that scares the shit out of you. Because she’s making you realise that the neat black-and-white world you created in your head to cope doesn’t exist. And here, in the real world, things are a lot more nuanced.”

“What the fuck are you even trying to say?” I spit out aggressively, my fuse running short. “That I could ever have ... feelings ... for a traitor bitch?” I grimace with disgust. “You’re full of shit.”