Page 77 of Retrograde

Riley goes silent. Shivers that nearly turn into full-body convulsions tear through me when she traces my spine with her fingertips.

“Yeah,” Alex confirms, nodding with a grim set of his jaw.

That’s hardly surprising—it’s not like we were expecting them to give up just because I blew up one bridge. I’m ready for this.

“I had an idea while I was in Revnik. Give me an hour, and then we’ll meet at the headquarters, alright?”

Alex turns to go, but then he stops, hesitating. “That’s not all,” he says. “There has been another development.”

“What now?” I growl impatiently—I have just discovered that Riley’s shirt has hiked up, leaving a bit of skin exposed that I was just about to kiss, savouring the heat of her body on my lips.

“Reprobates. They’ve resurfaced. With a bang.”

Well, if there is one fucking thing that can steal my attention from what I’m doing, it’s this.

“You’re kidding?”

“Wish that I were.”

28

RILEY

Before I know what’s happening, I find myself thrown over Aron’s shoulder, his clavicle pressing into my abdomen, and his proximity invading my senses as well as my thoughts.

I’m still reeling from what I’ve just witnessed. Rimmed by the circle of onlookers, the cave courtyard became a fighting pit. Dust rose from the ground as the two men circled each other in the centre like predators, their postures speaking to years of fighting experience, their eyes locked on the opponent’s with the promise of carnage. Aron was still shirtless, light and shadow playing across his sculpted chest, veins outlined on his arms and pulsing with adrenaline. Even without his skull mask, he managed to look less like a human being and more like a god of death come to collect a damned soul.

I’m stuck in a loop, trying and failing to understand his actions. He didn’t seem to care about what Attila did to me at all, only to then mutilate him for life. He took what he wanted from me like he would die if he didn’t, only to then treat me like I’m nothing but his property. I don’t know what makes me angrier: the speed with which these glimpses of caring about me disappear, or the ferocity with which I want them to stay.

I pummel his back with my fists, insisting on being set down. Unsurprisingly, this only amuses him. But then a round-faced man approaches us, and Aron’s body tenses underneath me like with a flick of a switch, stress that is otherwise invisible rolling off him in waves.

His breathing grows shallower with each word they exchange about the approaching offensive and the Reprobates’ reappearance.

His anxiety stirs an unwelcome blend of feelings inside me; uneasy compassion, shock at this unlikely proof of his vulnerability, but mostly the compulsion to soothe him. I stop struggling and run my fingers up and down his back. Apprehension twists in my belly. Because wanting a man is one thing. Wanting to comfort him is another. And way scarier.

I stay still until the two men agree to meet later. Meanwhile, the courtyard descends into chaos, men scrambling around, tensions running high. Aron carries me over to the rickety metal ladder fixed to the cave’s wall by sheer will rather than by the worn-out, rusty anchor bolts.

“Put me down!” I scream when it becomes clear he intends to climb up with me still thrown over his shoulder. “Please!”

“Oh, what the hell.” Against all expectations, he does. “Since you said please.”

If it weren’t for that moment earlier, I would have never noticed the worried lines around his eyes and the edge in his voice. I would have thought that maybe he was being ... kind? But I can see now that he’s just worn out and too preoccupied to enjoy tormenting me. He didn’t give in. He gave up.

Not that I care. There’s no reason why it should matter to me. It makes absolutely no difference.

We climb up and then enter what has to be the most unique living space I’ve ever seen. Man-made brick and natural rock walls fuse together to form a large room and an adjacent bathroom. The floor is wood, scratched and worn out, speaking to a long history of inhabitants. Clearly, there is some sort of plumbing and even electricity, judging by the few lamps. A bed with army pillows and a few blankets. A hammock, a small fridge and a kitchenette featuring a portable burner. A small table with a single chair. No heating. Even though there are absolutely no frills or decorations, the dim light and natural materials make it cosy. It’s technically still a cave, but it doesn’t trigger my claustrophobia.

“You can take the bed,” Aron murmurs, not looking at me. “I sleep in the hammock half the time anyway. Old army habits.”

“Oh.” I push a stray strand of hair behind my ear. “Alright.”

Why do I feel so put out by this? Why or even how would I protest this? But Aron, I expected to share a bed ... Ridiculous!

“Aron, what am I now? Am I still your prisoner?” My heart speeds up, and I’m not sure I want to hear the answer.

“Wouldn’t be my first choice of a word.” He smirks. “You can’t leave if that’s what you’re asking. And you have to do as you’re told unless you’re craving a punishment.”

Recollections of the cage rush in; the rough walls pressing in on me, the moist smell, the cold. I shudder.