The Retribution Chronicles

A d e | o n e

If looks could kill, Ade would be six feet under by now. Deeper even, so far down the residual licks of hell would leave his skin slightly singed and oozing. Thankfully, Lydia could do no worse than momentarily distract him from the beautiful woman sitting beside him in one of the large, burgundy booths that edged around the room. Granted, Ade couldn't remember her name, but when had that ever stopped him?

His mystery girl flipped a mass of bone-straight hair over her shoulder and cocked her head to one side while her manicured hand crept up Ade's leg. "What do you study?" she asked, her kneecap brushing against his outer thigh beneath the chipped wooden bench.

"Math," he said.

Her eyes brightened with the familiar sheen of dollar signs. Eastford's maths department was known for many things. It's competitive nature, for one, high dropout rate and proclivity for churning out finance kings in the dozen. Kings who went on to make bucket loads of money. And if there was one thing Ade knew, it was that money meant girls, even when it was a vague unfulfilled prophecy. Which, he supposed, was why he didn't mind the glimmer in her eyes. After all, everything was a transaction, and if he had the capital to cash in, then so be it.

"What do you study?" he asked, leaving her hand to linger.

"French." Her wine-stained lips parted with a promise Ade quirked a brow at. It seemed enough to get her to launch into a seductive spiel which he took in with a half-amused smirk. She was two years too late for that trick, and even if she wasn't, he knew better than to give in on the first try.

"That the best you got?" He inched closer.

She mirrored his movement and invaded his senses with her overly sweet scent while tightening her grip on his leg. "Je veux te baiser," she whispered against his ear, biting her full lips when she sat back and smiled. It was dainty, demure; nothing like the raw passion that left her voice hoarse moments before.

"And that means?" Ade asked.

She glanced up from beneath her lashes, batting them, and said, "I want to fuck you."

"Now?" Ade's smile darkened.

Without saying another word, she stood up, slipped past, arse millimetres from his face, and turned towards him. There was an innocence in her expression, soft and willing, excited too. That is, it was before she slid her hand into his and tugged, leaving all that sweetness to twist into a sordid vow.

They escaped Sandy's, the student union bar, in a matter of minutes, and shot down the redbrick path that snaked through campus towards the most expensive of the first-year accommodations. It was fifteen floors too tall and overlooked the wide lake, giving its richer residents a perfect view filled with ducklings and elegant swans, grassy banks and daffodils, even the arts building across the way, which was widely regarded as an architectural feat and a major selling point to all prospective students regardless of their interest. Ade had already spent three evenings in the building that week alone—a record, even for him—so what was a fourth?

"I have a studio," mystery girl said, breathless and panting. "We don't need to be quiet."

Three years in and Ade knew it didn't matter. Flatmates or not, he could make a woman scream with two fingers and a single phrase. Wail even, so loud the windowpanes shook. And yet, he merely flashed her a smile and winked as if pleased by the prospect.

She grinned and tore her lanyard out of the small, leather bag that bounced against the rounded curve of her hip. She wiped it across the reader, which beeped seconds later, allowing them to hurtle inside. The lift was slow to arrive, worse when they managed to get into it, but eventually it spat them out on the tenth floor and Ade found himself in perhaps one of the cleanest first year rooms he'd visited this year. The girl kicked off her shoes and lined them up before glancing at him. Once his muddy Airforces were safely left beside her converse, she leapt. His arms shot out, scooping under her arse as she climbed him like a pole and left a litter of kisses along his jaw, each as wet and sloppy as the last.