Page 61 of Retrograde

“There may be a shoot I’d like to discuss with you. Let’s catch up in the mess hall at dinnertime, please?”

“Sure.”

He smiles a standard-issue smile: polite, blank, emotionless.

Still baffled by the interaction, I round the corner, and the prior stable comes into view. The yard is relatively empty, but there is a guard sitting on a stool in front of the large wooden door.

Shit.

Contrary to popular belief, rescue attempts are so rare that often they don’t bother guarding prisoners. But Aron is the Necromancer, the best possible candidate for a nice, see-how-we-reform-rebels public retribution in one of the capitals. I was right to worry they’d be more cautious with him.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

I’m going to have to be more ruthless than I’ve ever been in my life.

I’ve seen the guard before. A large, hulking, stupid type. Breathes with his mouth open. Communicates mostly with grunts. Usually harmless. He’s young and could be seen as attractive if you’re not bothered by the lack of brain cells.

But most importantly, he seems bored out of his mind, yawning constantly and fidgeting in his seat. That works in my favour.

I can do this. I have to try. I have no choice.

I have to go back because of Corrado, but I cannot go back empty-handed. I shudder just thinking about Attila’s fingers between my legs, his threats playing in my mind on repeat.

I adjust the long sleeves of my jacket, my hands sweaty, my heart leaping out of my chest. I take a deep, steadying breath.

Play it cool. Forget you’re playing it at all, that’s the key. Remember only when it’s time.

“Hey,” I address the guard cheerily as I approach him.

He just stares at me, raising his eyebrows in surprise, his mouth—what a shock—wide open. At least his teeth are nice.

“What’s your name?” I plaster on my friendliest smile.

“Rob.”

“You look bored, Rob, and I’ve got some time to kill too,” I tell him with the dumbest smile I can muster.

“So?”

“I could go for a quick fuck.”

His brow creases with disbelief. It takes him a good half a minute to process what I just said before he blushes violently.

“What?”

“You’re hot,” I say, trying to sound convincing. “I haven’t been with anyone in forever. Do you want to fuck me?” I pout at him, feeling sick. “Yes or no?” I nudge him when he continues staring without saying anything.

“Yeah,” he finally grunts with something close to an astonished smile.

No alarm bells going off in his head. He finds what is happening improbable, but not suspicious. It’s almost too easy. How the hell do some people survive to adulthood?

“Where do we go?” I ask when it becomes clear he won’t make a move unless prompted.

A true soldier at heart. Forever waiting for a command.

“Ugh.” He scratches the back of his head, his smile growing wider but also more uncertain.

My pulse rushes through my ears when I ask, “Are there any other prisoners in there? Or just the Necromancer?”