Page 97 of Retrograde

“No,” I reply to her simply without looking at her. “You didn’t need to know.”

She scoffs, crossing her arms. Inwardly, I’m daring her to argue with me. But she’s too smart, too aware of the dynamic between us to ever question it out loud, to give me a chance to tell her things that she doesn’t want to hear. Clever girl, playing her game of cat and mouse with me like she doesn’t think she’ll eventually get caught.

“Has it not occurred to you to bring me with you?”

Her words yank my gaze to her face.

She’s sitting on her heels on the bed, knees wide apart, the shirt I gave her high up her thighs—the fabric just fucking asking to be slid further up. I hate that my cock gets instantly hard at the sight of her, I hate that my body reacts to her like she’s the most desirable thing in the universe.

“Why the fuck would I do that?” I snap at her.

I can’t stand how weak I get around her, all my resolve fading, everything I know is right dissolving into irrelevance.

“So I can document it,” she replies. “Let me do my part for the resistance. Maybe I can help get you more support with my photos.”

I picture her lying flat on her stomach on top of the cliff, her upper half hanging over it, the camera glued to her face. I picture stray bullets catching her. I picture the explosion, the ground shaking and her losing balance and toppling over. I picture someone spotting her, taking her ... molten rage rushes through me, searing me on the inside.

“Not a chance, Riley,” I grit out. “Fucking a rebel leader doesn’t make you the resistance.”

She flinches, hurt and anger flashing through her face, nostrils flaring. But she takes a deep breath before replying in a calm, measured tone, “I could be an asset. A resource. It’s not a very good leader who doesn’t use all the resources available.”

That makes me even more furious. Not just her words, but also how much I’d like to punish her for them in a way we’d both enjoy, and I don’t have the time. So instead of wrapping my hand around her throat or spanking her before making her come until she begs me for a break, I relieve my wrath the only way I know how. By sharing it with her, riling her up.

“Today’s too important for me to look after you.”

She pales, and her eyes darken, lips stretching into an outraged grimace. “Look after me? I’ve seen more combat than you have, you arrogant bastard!”

She doesn’t fucking get it, does she? I can’t have her there. I can’t afford any distractions. I won’t be able to function if she’s there. I just need her to stay put and not give me any grief today of all days. I just need a break from this all, a break I’ll never ever get.

“There’s a bounty on your head!” I roar.

Words tear up my throat, rushing out of me in a torrent. Her eyes widen as I tell her what I learnt from the rodent lieutenant whose name I hadn’t bothered to learn. The more people who know, the more dangerous this gets—and that includes even her. Still, the relief at no longer bearing this burden alone is overpowering.

But it’s also distorted by something dangerously close to guilt. Guilt for worrying her, for not being able to protect her from all this. But I refuse to acknowledge it, chasing it out, knowing it’s a weakness I can’t afford. I can’t start questioning everything. If I do, this whole thing just falls apart.

She doesn’t deserve for me to feel this way about her.

I’m shocked at how calm her voice sounds when she speaks, her demeanour soothing and completely at odds with my inner turmoil.

“There’s a bounty on all your heads, too,” she points out.

“That’s different,” I grunt, her lack of concern grating against my nerves.

“We knew this would happen sooner or later,” she says it like it hardly matters. “Sooner or later, they were going to find out, and Volker was always going to throw a fit.” She shrugs. “It’s not like you can keep me hidden here forever. Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine. I promise I know how to stay under the radar out there.”

Is she ... consoling me? Comforting me? She can’t be for real.

“Don’t worry about you? You think I’m worried about you?” I spit at her, but my voice is just a cornered dog’s bark, frenzied and aggravated, but not commanding.

She’s seen what I’d tried so hard to conceal, not just from her, but also from myself. She’s seen it plain as day. And because she has, I can no longer pretend it doesn’t exist. I can no longer hide from it in the warmth of her body, in the softness of her thighs. She is forcing me to face it, and there’s only one way that can go.

“Are you not? It sure sounded like you were.” She isn’t gloating; her voice is mild and her expression gentle, but they rub me the wrong fucking way.

Because the moment has come at last. A moment I’ve been planning, a moment that should have been my victory. But it suddenly feels like nothing but a defeat.

I find myself roped into a scheme I have myself set in motion, unable to get out unless I sever ties with everything I have fought for, with everything that people I have loved and lost fought for.

And that’s not who I am.