Page 85 of Retrograde

“Has Tristan been in touch? Or Phoenix?”

“Radio silence.” He shakes his head before reminding me cautiously, like he’s expecting me to bite his head off, “Should we discuss the offensive, then?”

I get it. We’re like cornered fucking dogs here, our asses pressed to the wall, just barking and lashing out to postpone the inevitable. I tend to lose it anytime someone dares remind me of that.

I bite the inside of my cheek until I taste blood, count to ten, all that crap. Only then do I reply, “Yes. Here’s what I’m thinking. Now they’re heading towards Revnik via the Magistrala because it’s the base closest to here. But if we took Revnik out ... then they’d have to go to Fort Bayer. Via the Abyss Gorge route.”

The whole room lets out a tense breath.

“Narrow, funnel-like road that we can line with what dynamite we have left on one side and ambush them from above on the other. Unless they’re smart enough to call the air force in on their first attempt, it’s our best bet to hold them off.”

An uneasy silence settles over us like a net. Hold them off. Always just that. Draining their resources little by little, knowing it will make no difference in the long run.

“Take Revnik out how?” Alex asks.

“Poison their water supply. They get their water from an uncontaminated reservoir about a mile away. A concrete structure, not big, more of a basin really. I overheard them talking about a filtration issue while I was there, and that gave me the idea. The base is relatively small, the reservoir even smaller, barely enough to service them as is. Put the quality of the water into question, and they’ll send the incoming units elsewhere.”

Sadly, their treatment unit will likely flag the issue before they drink any of it. But they won’t send new units to an already overcrowded base with a compromised water supply. And that’s good enough for now.

“With what? We don’t have any poisons or bacteria.”

“No.” I shake my head slowly, grimly. “But we do have scavengers and a shit ton of radioactive debris.”

32

RILEY

For weeks, I’d dreamt of sleeping in a bed again, soft and warm and with a pillow under my head. But now that I’m in one, I’m tossing and turning, no longer used to the comfort and unable to fall asleep.

When I finally drift off, it feels like I’ve barely closed my eyes when an agonised voice yanks them open again.

Dim blue light is falling through the uneven, curtained windows, fitted into natural gaps in the cave wall.

“Haqif! No! Haqif!”

Aron’s thrashing in his hammock, despair fracturing his voice. There’s something so raw in the sound, so vulnerable that it’s like a dagger through the heart, twisting and twisting. I can’t listen to it.

“Hey, hey, hey.” I jump up and cross the room, my hand on his shoulder in a heartbeat. “Hey, it’s just a nightmare, it’s alright.”

Before he even opens his eyes, his own hand shoots forward like a viper striking. “Are you fucking stupid?” An iron grip nearly snaps my arm in half as I’m dragged into the hammock and on top of him. “Huh?” he demands. “Riley, I sleep with my gun underneath my pillow! I could have shot you, do you realise that?”

“Why the fuck would you sleep with a gun under your pillow?”

In the dim semi-darkness of the rising day, I see his eyes stray to my ass. I’m wearing only the black shirt he tossed at me earlier when I stepped out of the shower. I’m half-naked and practically laid across his lap, hips raised high, as if ready for ... before I even finish that thought, twisted excitement surges through me. Something flashes in his eyes—like recognition—and his palm crashes loudly against my exposed flesh, the sting burning deep.

“Oww,” I complain, my voice like melted butter. “You were having a nightmare! I was just trying to help.”

“I. Didn’t. Ask. For. Your. Fucking. Help,” he berates me, the cracks of his hand punctuating the words.

With each one, a cat yowl peels off my lips. I’m digging my nails into his skin before my arms wrap themselves around his shoulders. I cling to him, and he pulls me closer with his spare hand on the small of my back. The potent mix of hurt and comfort sets my blood boiling.

“I’m sorry,” I murmur sweetly into his ear and feel him relax, taut muscles letting up.

“I have nightmares almost every night,” he tells me, a little gruffly. “Mind your own fucking business.”

“Hard to do when you’re this loud,” I point out, earning a blow so vicious that my eyes water. “It sounded so bad! It sounded like someone should wake you up.”

With the next merciless slap, I shift, accidentally grazing my clit over his bulging erection, only the thin fabric of his boxers separating me from his cock.