The Retribution Chronicles

M i r i a m | f o u r

Miriam glanced up at the ceiling, tracing the too bright spotlights until two options presented themselves. That is, one. The risky one. The fun one. The one which saw her continue this charade; cut through Ade's undoubted self-assurance in a single, biting swipe. For if Ryan seemed useful for anything, it was to be a vessel of bad news. He did, after all, seem like a gloater. But to continue knocking Ade back was to play a dangerous game, and Miriam was on the clock. One month. Four weeks. 30 something days. She didn't have time to dangle the carrot from afar. She needed an in. And although, an hour ago, Abi had been that window, Ryan, with all his cocky intrigue, was wide open, leaving Miriam with no choice but to step through and say, "Yeah, you probably did."

Wes was positively rigid, with an unyielding mouth set in a straight line and eyes that seemed to refuse to meet Miriam's. Even when she brushed a finger against the back of his hand, he remained still, stern, stringent. That is until he slid his palm against hers, the skin sticky with heat, and squeezed. "We've got to go," he said.

Ryan glanced at their fingers and quirked a fuzzy brow, smiling all the same. "Yeah of course. But I just wanted to let you know that I'm having a party tomorrow night. You guys should come through if you're not busy."

Wes looked down at Miriam. His eyes were hard, insisting, narrowing ever so slightly into the look. On any other occasion she wouldn't even need it, she was, after all, more antisocial than him, but success was pivotal. So she gulped and said, "What time?"

Wes' anger radiated in red hot waves, singing the edge of the hoodie.

"Come for seven," Ryan said, seemingly none the wiser to the building pressure. "Wes has the address."

"Cool." Miriam tried to catch Wes' eye; he looked away.

"So I'll see you tomorrow night?" Ryan asked.

"Sure." Miriam tried again; Wes wasn't having it. "See you tomorrow."

Ryan grinned and leaned forward to offer Wes another clap on the back which he returned, dropping Miriam's hand in the process. Ryan then ducked into the changing rooms, and, two seconds later, Wes began marching out of the building.

Miriam chased after him. Annoyingly, she made three steps to his one, leaving her trailing behind until he stopped mid-stride just outside the automatic doors and whipped around, eyes pinging like an unstable isotope. "Ade's a piece of shit," he growled. "He's the type of guy who will ruin you."

Miriam licked her lips and sighed. This was the hard part, but to be a successful avenging angel was to be a wolf in sheep's clothing, especially around the victim. And although Wes wasn't the victim per se, he was a man, a liability, a potential wrench in Miriam's well-oiled machine. And even if he wasn't, he wouldn't get it.

"He barely knows me," Miriam said with a whistle of unconcerned laughter. "How can he ruin me?"

"You don't know Ade," Wes insisted.

"And you do?"

Wes glared at her, eyes hard and unyielding, then turned on his heel and walked away.

"Do you?" Miriam shouted after him, earning herself a dozen side-eyes from passers-by.

"Yes," Wes said, slowing down to match her pace.

"How?"

"Doesn't matter, we met a long time ago. But everything I said still stands. He's a dick, Mer."

Part of her wanted to know more, to press on all of Wes' sore points until the truth came gushing out, but she knew better. Cared enough to let him keep his secret, for she had hers, and instead said, "Don't worry, I'm not interested."