A/N Happy Easter to you all!

Beta'd by the wonderful Fran & Pre-read by the lovely ladies, Kate and Pearly.

Thank you for reading x

Chapter Five: Retrograde

Edward

xXx

"So, how's it goin', for real?" Ricko asks me from under the car he's working on. I'm sitting on his workbench, a cigarette between my lips, kicking about, waiting to meet my parole officer. Then I have to go pick Isabella up from school. Can't fucking wait for that.

"She's a fucking bitch," I tell him honestly. "Real fucking bitch."

Ricko's head pops out from under the car, and he smirks, "Hot though?"

"So fucking hot," I mutter. "Like I want to strangle her, but while I'm fucking the shit out of her."

Ricko barks out a laugh, "Be careful, Mase, anyone hears you sayin' that…"

I shrug. "I wouldn't touch her if she was the last person alive, man. She's such an evil bitch; you have no idea. I'll admit she's sexy as hell, but she's a horrible person."

Ricko raises his eyebrows, "Damn, she's really getting to you…"

I swallow, "Tommie won some sunglasses in this art thing in school. He doesn't show up much, you know, especially with…anyway it's the only thing he's good at, and he gave them to me this weekend as an early birthday present...and she fucking broke them."

Ricko pauses what he's doing and frowns, "Why?"

"Because she's an evil bitch," I say angrily. "Tommie would be heartbroken if he fucking found out. I'm gonna go and buy a new pair so he'll never know, but it's just...that pair was...special, or whatever."

Ricko gets up and gently places his hand on my shoulder, and squeezes. "I know, man."

I shove him off gently, and he smiles. "Hey, I got you a birthday gift too."

"Yeah?" I arch my eyebrow, my lips tugging upward.

He grabs his rucksack and rummages around until he pulls out a large bottle of Grey Goose.

My eyes light up, "My favorite."

Ricko pulls out a wrapped present, and I feel a warmth spread in my stomach. He grins and gives it to me. "It's not just from me; it's from all the crew that were in with us; Hammer and Nodie even sent me some dollar, so you should feel pretty fuckin' special."

My throat feels a little dry all of a sudden, and I swallow. "Thanks, man."

I take the present from him, and he waggles his eyebrows, "Come on, asshole, no need for suspense, open it."

The paper tears easily under my hands, and I feel a twist in my chest as I open the box inside, finding the simple silver chain. It's something most of the guys wear in this crew. It means you're one of us. We'll protect you. We have your back.

I swallow down the lump in my throat and take it out of the box, placing it around my neck and tucking it under my T-shirt.

"Thanks, man." I smile at Ricko.

"Happy Birthday fucker." He grins, holding out his arms. I step into them, and he slaps my back, grabbing my face and planting a kiss on my head.

I shove him away and tell him to get the fuck off me, but I'm laughing, and so is he.

xXx

I wait against the car for Isabella, crossing my arms. She saunters out of school with her blonde friend, Rosalie, and I watch with amusement at the stares they get. Isabella notices; you can see it in the way she walks. But her friend is shyer, less aware of the eyes on her. They're both beautiful girls but in such different ways. Rosalie is willowy and thin, angelic and sweet looking, while Isabella is curvy and lean, sexy as hell, and the devil incarnate.

They stop in front of me, and Isabella's strange-colored eyes meet mine, her plump lips curving up into a smirk. "No sunglasses today, Fido? Oh right…" she laughs, "silly me, I forgot."

Rosalie rolls her eyes at her friend and gives me a tiny smile. I force down the white-hot rage flooding through me and smile back, knowing it'll piss off Isabella.

As predicted, she scowls and shoves me out of the way to get in the car. I grit my teeth.

It's for the money. It's for the money.

"Bye, Fido," Rosalie says softly, skipping off to her car in front.

Of course, none of her friends know my actual name.

I get in the car, inwardly cursing Charlie for making me sit in the back with her instead of the front. I get why; it's for her protection, but having to sit this close to her for prolonged periods makes me want to break something.

"Take me to the shop, please, S."

"That okay, Masen?" Stevie asks me.

Isabella seethes, her body practically vibrating with anger. "Since when do I need permission to go anywhere?"

Stevie's voice is calm, "Your fath-"

"Fuck my father." Isabella snaps, slapping her hand on the seat with a loud noise. She glares at me, "Tell him we can go."

Two can play at this game, Isabella, and I've been dying for my turn.

I arch a brow at her, "Why should I?"

She takes in a shuddering breath, "Fido...do not test me."

I lean back in my seat, giving her a bored expression. I can't actually tell her no; Charlie said she could go wherever as long as I'm with her, but drawing this out, pissing her off, that I'm more than happy to do.

Isabella reaches towards me and places her hand on my leg, narrowing her eyes. I flinch automatically, unable to help my body's reaction to being touched by someone I don't trust. My chest seizes tight.

Fucking evil bitch.

Her hand inches higher, "Tell him I can go."

"Fine." I spit, wanting to grab her arm and rip her off me. I can't touch her like that no matter how much I want to; we both know it.

She smirks and lets me go, leaning back in her seat and crossing her legs, accidentally flashing me the red of her underwear.

Anger and lust wrestle deep in the pit of my stomach, and for a moment, I fantasize about gripping her by the throat and squeezing tight, sliding my cock inside her while she chokes. I snap my head away, feeling disgusted with myself. This fucking girl fucks me up so damn bad.

My jaw clenches tight as I stare out the window. "It's fine, Stevie," I say in a clipped tone, nails digging into my palms.

I try to think about Tommie to feel better, but then all I can remember is the way she fucking broke those glasses he gave me, and anger burns through me all over again. I lift my hand to my chest and finger the silver chain, the metal digging into my fingertips a little.

Before I left him earlier, Ricko had grabbed my shoulder and said, "Just get through a few months; that's all you gotta do, man. Once you've got the money, you can tell that bitch to go fuck herself, hell; you can tell the Boss too, though get the hell out of dodge if you're gonna."

I breathe in and out slowly, and I've just about calmed myself when Isabella pipes up and says, "Why didn't you tell me you got a collar Fido, maybe I can get a little tag for it that says, 'Bella's property,' just in case you go missing."

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

"I have an idea; why don't I get a matching leash? I can clip it on and walk around with you chained up to me like the little bitch you are."

I will not react.

"Who got it for you? Your whore of a mother, or some guy who used to fuck you in pri-"

"Stop." I hiss, snapping my head to hers. "Don't-" I trail off as she smirks, the satisfied look on her face making me want to break something.

"Where's your mother?" I suddenly say, arching a brow. "I haven't heard anything about her. Did she abandon you because you're such a bitch?"

Isabella recoils as if I slapped her, and Stevie swerves slightly on the road.

I want to take back the words as soon as I say them; Charlie would kill me if he heard me speak to her like that.

Her eyes fill with tears, and I feel a spike of indignation, shaking my head at her. "You can dish it out but can't take it; seems about fucking right," I say sharply.

She's mercifully quiet, and when the car stops, she storms out and slams the door behind her. I start to get out, but Stevie clears his throat.

"Don't talk about her mother," he says softly. "I know she's a handful, and you have every right to hate her, Masen...but just don't. You're here to work; this is a job, remember that. The boss doesn't mind your attitude, but you talk like that again, and he'll hear about it, we clear? That girl's been through enough."

I nod stiffly. I don't fucking care what she's been through, but I shouldn't have said that to her; this job is too important to fuck up over her stupid childish behavior. I get out of the car and stare in surprise at the sleek black building in front of me. It's just one story, and the big white letters framed above the doorway read, The Black Swan: Tattoo Parlour.

I open the door and step inside. The lights aren't on, and it takes me a second to adjust to the shadows, the smell of cleaning supplies burning my nose a little. Suddenly the lights above buzz a little before turning on, illuminating the shop.

My eyes flick around curiously, taking in the gleaming black marble floor and the large oak desk in front, a beautiful, colorful mural on the wall behind it. I'm standing in some kind of lobby, a bunch of chairs and couches on my left, a pool table on my right. There's a door at the back, behind the front desk, a clattering noise coming from behind it. I walk up and push it open.

Inside is a sleek, modern-looking room with navy walls and paneling on either side. A black leather chair sits in the center with a cool, twisting white pattern going through the fabric. Around it are cleaning supplies and tools for tattooing. The back wall is covered in Polaroids, and I find myself walking towards them, ignoring Isabella as she bends over a desk on the other side of the room, flashing her creamy white thighs.

All the pictures are of tattoos, but the designs are so unique, like nothing I've ever seen before. They're colorful as fuck and detailed too.

'What...is this place?" I ask Isabella curiously, turning to her. She's messing around with various things, ignoring me for once.

I decide I don't mind that she's being quiet and step out of the room, sprawling onto one of the comfy chairs and closing my eyes.

The sound of the shop door opening makes me jump up, my hand resting on the gun at my lower back. The Asian guy standing in the doorway is in the same uniform as Isabella. His dark eyes narrow at me suspiciously.

"Bella…" he calls.

"Come straight through." Isabella hails him.

I follow him as he walks into the back room, curiosity burning in my gut.

"Do you remember the design?" he asks, unbuttoning his shirt.

"Yep," Isabella says, holding out her hand. "Money first."

The boy narrows his eyes. "I'd rather pay you after. What if I don't like it."

Isabella smirks, cocking her head at him. "Either you want me to do it, or you don't, Ben. Pay me first, and I'll do it, or go home, makes no difference to me."

Ben sighs at her and then reaches into his pocket and holds out a few hundred-dollar bills. My eyebrows raise, and I lean against the wall, crossing my arms.

Isabella places the money on the table and gestures to the chair. "Face down and ass up," she teases.

Ben lays on the table, crossing his arms under his head, and Isabella's face suddenly looks serious. She bends over him with a pen and starts drawing, her eyebrows knitting together in concentration.

My pants tighten a little as I watch her, her plump bottom lip slipping under her teeth as she sighs softly. I'm not sure how long I stare at her, but the next thing I know she's twisting away and picking up a mirror, holding it up above him.

"Like this, right?"

"Fuck yeah," the boy laughs, "that looks sick, Bella."

"Are you ready to make it permanent? And you're sure, right? I don't want you to come back and bitch at me that you made a mistake. You want this, I'll do it, but you can walk away now, and I'll give you your money back if you're not sure. Don't feel pressured or anything, Ben."

My eyebrows draw together a little, the softness in her voice surprising me. I didn't think she was capable.

"Yeah. Do it," Ben says, sighing. He lifts his head and glances at me. "Is he going to watch?"

Isabella turns to me and narrows her eyes, walking towards me. I quickly step out the door before she can touch me, but instead of her usual smirk, her expression is blank as she shuts it in my face. I walk over to the couch and lay across it, my mind switching off even as my body stays vigilant, eyes mapping the room constantly, quadrant by quadrant, ears listening for the slightest sound of anything nefarious.

In the back room, I can hear the hum of the tattoo machine, the sound making my skin tingle a little as I recall the feel of it going into my body, that sharp sting. I absentmindedly trace my hand up the ink at the top of my arms. I want more now that I'm out, but that shit costs money, and right now, I need every fucking penny.

I'm surprised she's tattooing people and even more surprised her dad bought her a shop to do it in. I stare at the desk at the back and the pool table; this place was built to be a running shop, but it obviously isn't. In the month I've been working for the Swan's, this is the first time Isabella's been here, so she doesn't use it that often unless she comes on weekends when I'm off.

I find myself intrigued and almost want to ask her about it, just to settle my curiosity, but I know there's no point. She'd never tell me anyway.

"Fucking bitch." I mutter quietly to myself, crossing my arms.

xXx

When we get back to the house, there's dinner waiting on the counter for us. It's silent inside, just like always, and I feel a flicker of something akin to sympathy for Isabella for half a second, but it's quickly extinguished when she dumps the food from my plate into a metal bowl and places it on the floor.

"Here, boy," she coos, "Fido, can you say please for your dinner."

I'm tempted to kick the bowl across the room, but I pick it up instead and then purposefully eat out of it, smirking at her as I sit on the kitchen counter.

"Get down from there, Fido," Isabella snaps.

I ignore her, and her eyes flash, her fork clashing into the china plate loudly.

Shit like this, I can handle. Even with Ricko's crew having my back inside, it wasn't ever fucking easy. Being called a dog, being treated like crap, I took that shit for breakfast, and worse. The only thing I've never been able to handle is fuckers talking shit about my mom and being touched. Plenty of guys can attest to the taste of my fist when they've tried either.

I can't hit her, though—would never lay my hands on a woman, ever, no matter how much of a bitch she is, even if she was smacking the shit out of me. Raising your hand to a woman, that's pussy shit, and a lesson I've taught and will continue to teach to any motherfucker that thinks any different.

"What's that line from Harry Potter?" Isabella hums, walking up to me and knocking the food out of my hands. The metal bowl clatters to the floor.

I stare at her blankly.

She smirks, "If there's something wrong with the bitch, there's something wrong with the pup."

I push down my anger and cock an eyebrow, "Is that why you're so fucked up?"

Isabella freezes, and I tilt my head at her expectantly.

She spins on her heel and storms upstairs, leaving her plate abandoned at the table.

Fido 1. Bitch 0.

I take a shower and then go through my rucksack, opening the cards Ricko gave me from the guys. I laugh at the contents; dirty jokes, pictures of naked girls, reminders of things I did that were fucking stupid.

I line them up on the table, with the bottle of Vodka from Ricko, fingering the chain around my neck. I'm looking forward to spending the day with Tommie and Esme tomorrow; it's the first birthday weekend I've had in five years, though the guys did their best for me on the inside. Tommie hinted to me on the phone earlier that there was gonna be cake, and beer, and pizza, so I'm fucking amped for it, more to get to see the kid and Es, though.

"Fido!" I hear Isabella scream.

I burst from my door and run to hers, flinging it open, my gun in my hands, eyes scanning around, but Isabella is just sitting on her bed, a large sketchbook in front of her.

Sighing wearily, I re-engage the safety, putting the gun back in the holster that rests around my waist.

"What?" I ask her. Irritated.

"I need you for something," Isabella says, shutting the sketchbook and standing.

I exhale in a huff, leaning back against the door and arching my brow.

She walks up to me, a pen in her hand. "Take off your shirt," she says calmly.

My eyebrows draw together, "What?"

"Take off your shirt," Bella repeats slowly, twisting the pen between her dainty fingers.

"No," I tell her simply.

"Take it off, Fido, now," Isabella orders, "there's a good boy." I grit my teeth, and her eyes light up. "Listen, Fido, either...you take off your shirt, or...I tell my dad that you touched me."

I jerk back from her incredulously, "You want me to fucking die?"

Isabella smirks, those sea-green and brown eyes staring straight into mine, "No, I want you to take off your shirt."

"Why?" I ask her stiffly.

Isabella rolls her eyes. "Don't worry, I'm not going to try and have sex with you or anything; I just want to do something. Now...Take. It. Off."

She wouldn't fucking dare tell her father I touched her, I don't think, anyway. But I can't risk it. Frustration and hate build up in the pit of my belly, gripping hold of everything in their path, making my fists clench.

I move off the doorway, grab the back of my T-Shirt from behind, chucking it on the floor as I pointedly look away from her. I hear her sharp intake of breath and shift uncomfortably. She steps closer to me, and I flinch instinctually as her small, warm hand touches my ribcage, tracing the tattoo of a skull that sits there.

I squeeze my eyes shut, my chest feeling constricted and heavy, my stomach twisting uncomfortably. She unclips the gun holster, and I hear the thunk of it on wood.

"Stay still," I hear Isabella say.

I fucking hate her. More than I've ever hated anyone or anything in my life.

Her burning hand rests on my back, and I grit my teeth, my breaths becoming short and labored, my vision swimming, a roaring sound in my ears. Touches from behind are the worst for me.

"What are you doing?" My throat is closed up so tight my voice is barely a whisper.

"Don't move," Isabella warns. I almost jump as I feel something tiny and wet press into my skin—one of her warm hands resting on my upper back.

It's too warm, the hand, and it's clammy and not supposed to be there. Even though it feels small, in my head, it's bigger, rougher, gripping me harder, pushing me down, short nails sinking into my skin. I can feel her breath against my back, but it's not hers; it's heavier, louder, wrong, wrong.

My vision starts narrowing, my breath getting caught in my chest, panic flooding me so intensely a whimper falls from my mouth.

I manage to wrench myself forwards and stumble out of her room, everything spinning, the corridor closing in on me.

When I finally get to my doorway, I slam the door behind me and drop to my knees, panting. I will my heart to stop racing, for the panic to disappear and the pain in my chest to stop.

Count with me, James' voice sounds in my head. 1, 2, 3, 4...blood pouring from James' stomach, gurgling coming from his throat.

No, not James, never James.

Ricko... Ricko kneeling in front of me, "Name something you can see right now."

"The bed."

"Name something you can feel."

"The wooden floor."

"Name something you can hear."

"My own fucking breathing."

Ricko would laugh at that.

The tension eases in my chest slightly, and I get up from the floor, staggering over to the bottle of vodka that Ricko gave me this morning.

I gulp it down until my eyes sting and it feels light in my hands, then sit on the bed, my body still shaking as I try to breathe slowly. Memories threaten to overwhelm me, but I refuse to let them.

After several minutes the alcohol starts to kick in, my eyes feeling heavier, fingers tingling as my head floats up high. I stand, almost falling over as the room goes sideways for a second. I right myself and rub my chest, relieved as it starts to loosen, my breaths coming easier.

"Masen," I hear Isabella's voice outside my door.

I ignore her. I can't deal with her right now.

The door opens, and the sight of her fills me with a white-hot rage.

"Masen," her voice is almost cautious. "I-"

I step right up to her face, glaring at her. "What? What now, Isabella?"

"I just wa-"

The room is fucking spinning, and I'm so fucking angry at her. Before I know what I'm doing, I've wrapped my hand around her throat and pinned her to the wall, my face inches from hers. "Don't. Ever. Touch. Me. Again. Bitch." I spit.

Her eyes go wide, and she trembles.

I suddenly realize what I'm doing and stagger back from her in shock. "Shit. Shit. I'm-"

Isabella twists and runs to her room, slamming the door behind her.

"Fuck!" I snarl, throwing the bottle of vodka at the wall, where it smashes into tiny pieces.

A/N Phew. An intense one - let me know what you're thinking in the reviews :)

I announced a new story last week and posted the first chapter on Thursday, it's called 'The One That Got Away' and it's about…well I think you can guess ;)

Here's the summary: Four years ago, he broke her heart into a hundred pieces, but Bella was over him, she was. She had a good job, the perfect boyfriend; everything in her life was fine. He just had to come crashing back in and ruin everything. ExB.

Hope you're having a lovely easter – smashing the chocolate (I definitely have been) and enjoying yourself :)

See you on Thursday for TOTGA, if you're going to read of course ;)

Ella xx

P.S Two of my fics, Desire and Teasing Mr. Cullen have been nominated in the March's Top 10 completed fics! You can find the poll on Twifanfictionrecs ( d o t ) c o m, lots of other great stories there too and you can vote daily, so even if you have more than one choice – go for it.

P.S.S Are you in the FB group Creaatingmadness yet? If not, come and join us – it's a lot of fun and you get teasers and sneak peaks of what's happening behind the scenes.