Page 14 of Retrograde

Little did anyone know that Riley is a fourteen-year-old resident of [REDACTED], Tamara Volkova. When asked what prompted her to start documenting the conflict, she said she “just wanted to take some pictures”.

Her age notwithstanding, major global press representatives have already extended long-term contracts to Riley, offering the young artist protection and secure transportation to other conflict zones.

Meanwhile, the revelation of Riley’s identity has sparked worldwide outrage, with many calling for an intervention to resolve the ongoing hostilities.

“It is a sad reflection on the state of our world and our continent that we have allowed a teenager to discover such a rare talent for navigating a combat zone,” [REDACTED] commented ... (continued on page 8)

5

ARON

Balancing the plate and the mug of tea in one hand, with a blanket thrown over my arm, I hit the light switch and slam the metal door behind me with a bang.

Night has fallen, and fuck me, it’s gotten even colder in here. I descend into the cave’s mouth, stomping my feet on purpose, their thuds resonating.

I reach the cell to find the traitor huddled in the corner, hugging her knees and squinting, her eyes unaccustomed to the light.

Pale and shaking, she looks awful. She doesn’t move or even look at me as I unlock the cell door. I set the plate and mug down in front of her.

“Get up,” I order her.

She keeps staring past me vacantly. My anger soars when I think she’s about to ignore me. But she rises to her feet unsteadily like she barely has the strength to do so. Her skin is covered in goosebumps, and her nipples are pebbled. She doesn’t bother to hide them from me, her arms hanging limply by her sides.

“You need to warm up.” I wrap the blanket around her, leaving her right arm free so that she can drink and eat.

I brush her shoulder with my fingers, and a shiver zaps through me like electricity. My cock twitches, already at half-mast from the sight of her body. It’s fucking annoying that she looks the way she does. I haven’t as much as touched a woman in a while, and that’s making me react to her in a way I really don’t want to be reacting to her. Maybe it’s time to unload into a cunt for a change and not just into my hand in the shower.

“There.” I take my hands off the traitor. “Now sit down and eat. And drink that tea while it’s warm. You need it.”

“Well, I wouldn’t need it if—” Not letting her finish, I grab the hair at her nape and jerk her backwards, her body slamming into the cave’s rough wall.

She yelps even though I protected her head, scraping my already bloodied knuckles against the rock. Next time I won’t, I promise myself—if she’s stupid enough for there to be a next time.

She needs to understand. She’s trapped. There’s no talking me out of anything. There’s no escape. There’s nothing for her to do but give in to the despair I bring. And she will, even if she doesn’t know it yet. Everyone does in the end.

But fuck, the look on her! Her face framed by her chin-length brown hair, those wounded-puppy eyes, the freckles. And that frightened ‘O’ of her mouth ... wouldn’t I enjoy shoving my cock in there.

Said cock pulses in my pants at the thought, rock hard, the tip moist with precum.

“Listen to me, Hotshot, and listen carefully because I don’t like repeating myself.” She’s staring up at me with something that’s not so much shock as a refusal to engage. “I do with you as I see fit. If I want you naked in here, you’ll be naked in here. If I decide to feed you nothing but bread, you’ll eat nothing but bread. And if ...” My smirk is wide and vicious. “If I ever feel like putting that pretty, pink pussy of yours to good use, you’ll fucking take it, you hear me? And if I tell you to say thank you afterwards, you’ll say fucking thank you.” With each word, my volume rises. “Because from today until the end of what I’ll make sure is a very short, very miserable life, you belong to me. I do whatever the fuck I want with you.”

I’m expecting her to start crying. I’m pretty sure that buddy of hers would have. But her eyes stay dry.

“Are you done?” Her lips stretch in a smirk of her own.

“Don’t test me. Sit. Drink the damn tea. Eat.”

She juts her chin out defiantly. Holding my gaze, she sinks to her knees lazily. One leg after the other, instantly making me think of getting a blow job.

Fuck. Is she doing this on purpose? No, I don’t think she is. Something tells me it has never once occurred to her to use the way she looks as a weapon. And just fucking imagine if it had ...

I squat down opposite her, watching her take a sip and a small bite of cheese. While she chews, her eyes stray to my battered hand and darken in recognition—likely guessing correctly how the knuckles came to be this way.

“You look like shit. What’s wrong with you?” I ask, even though I already know; I’m putting that blunt honesty of hers to the test.

If she lies to me, I’ll pop the crybaby’s kneecap off with my knife and make her watch.

She swallows heavily and then studies my face. It’s like I can see her frantic thoughts, the wheels of her mind spinning and spinning. If she tells me the truth, she’ll be sharing her biggest weakness with me. Handing me the proverbial loaded gun. And there can be no doubt in her mind that I intend to use it.