Page 59 of Savagely Yours
In the last couple of weeks, Totten had initiated a credit-based currency system it had been toying with since the first “survivors” arrived. The system was supposed to help with resource allocation, but the only benefit I cared about was that I could use my “money” to pay for Larke’s place at Juniper Commons.
And to “buy” her gifts.
My last serious relationship was roughly a decade ago, and I was more rusty than an old bike chain. Still, I wanted to make sure I did this right. I couldn’t make up for what she’d already gone through, but I sure as hell would try, especially when my initial allotment was something I couldn’t spend in a month. Yet, elites’ credits were topped up weekly, all contained within the shiny black RFID bracelet circling my wrist.
It was another area where Totten could have shined. Credits could have reduced hoarding and ensured an equitable distribution of resources—had someone else been in charge.
I stepped onto Larke’s floor.
A familiar man stood outside her door, and I took a moment to watch him from the shadows. He ran his fingers along the grooves in the door, plucking at the trim and testing to see if there were any hidden panels in the wood.
Matthew Neal.
Former U.S. Senator and current Totten general.
Neal walked around with another Elite named Ronan, who usually remained hidden, although he was always nearby. It was obvious that Cerner had hoped to have a similar arrangement with me, but Ronan and I were two different beasts.
I had my purpose.
There was no need to go looking for another.
I walked up and cleared my throat. “Good morning.”
Neal looked over, his hand awkwardly falling from the door jamb. “Oh, hello. Good morning. It’s Harding, right?”
The asshole knew my name.
I unclenched my jaw. “What are you doing here…sir? Is something wrong?”
“No, no.” He scratched the back of his head and briefly looked down at his shoes. “I’m sort of ashamed to admit this, considering I have a wife, but I came to see my…you know.”
“You’re at the wrong unit, then.”
“And how would you know that?”
“Because no one who means anything to you lives in this one.”
Palpable annoyance moved over his features. “You know, Harding, for a former SEAL, you’re not a very team-oriented guy,” he said. “You’re a loner. You defy authority.”
“I don’t defy authority,” I shot back. “I do my work and follow my orders. If you mean that I don’t respect bullshit, that’s different. I served my country in more ways than you could ever imagine. So, if you think me choosing my morals is defiance, then it’s your leadership you need to call into question, not my loyalty.”
He arched a brow.
Ronan emerged from around a bend in the corridor, leaned against the wall, and folded his arms. I scanned his all-black gear as if I didn’t wear the same thing virtually every day.
Larke had a visceral reaction to the black uniform. Were these fuckers part of the reason why? Why did no one seem to understand what she meant to me or what my feelings for her meant for them? I wasn’t much of an actor, so I had a hard time believing I’d sold “Larke is my object” more credibly than I’d sold “I’m in love with her, and I’ll kill for her, so don’t fuck with her.”
“Larke Tapley lives here now,” Neal said.
I smirked. “I know.”
“I came to see her.”
“That’s unfortunate.”
Silence passed between us.
It had already been established that mistresses had exclusivity contracts, and if I’d needed confirmation of how I felt about Larke, that was it. For no other reason than to help her would I have entertained this nonsense.
