Page 1 of Retaliation

ONE

Under the harsh glare of floodlights, the Quarry buzzed with electric anticipation. In the middle of the crowd’s chaos, enveloped by their cheers and roars, Minke Sloan stood poised at the edge of the ring—her muscles coiled and senses razor-sharp. With her hair braided in a black halo around her head, her green eyes flamed with venom, focused on her opponent.

The Quarry, carved from the remnants of an old stone mine, was more than a fighting arena—it was a crucible where legends were forged and fears were faced. It stood as a testament to the raw, primal energy of the fighters who stepped into its circle. The crowd that packed the stands was a mosaic of the city’s underbelly, drawn together—thrill-seekers, the broken, those searching for redemption or escape. Here, in the Quarry, the roar of the crowd, the clash of fists against flesh, and the taste of victory and defeat were the only truths.

The air hung heavy with the stench of sweat and blood, a grim reminder of what was at stake. This was her refuge, her battlefield, where every fight was a dance with death—and tonight, she was ready to lead.

Her gaze locked on the opponent across the ring, a giant of a man with a reputation as solid as his punches. They called him “The Hammer,” and it wasn’t just a name. His blows struck like thunder, leaving destruction in their wake.

As the bell rang, silence swept over the arena, the crowd holding their breath in anticipation and bloodlust. The fighters circled each other, two predators locked in a standoff.

With the grace of a serpent, she struck first, her fists moving at blinding speed. Each blow reverberated through the arena, the impact of knuckles against bone and flesh echoing like a drumbeat.

She poured every ounce of pain and fury into her fists. Her brother’s name echoed in her mind, a mantra that matched the rhythm of her strikes.

Jonathan. Jonathan. Jonathan.

The Hammer fought back, his movements powerful but predictable. She had studied him, learned his tells, and with each dodge and weave, she unraveled him piece by piece. The crowd’s roar faded to a distant hum, her world narrowing to the space between strike and counterstrike, where only strength and spirit mattered.

It was over in minutes. The Hammer lay unconscious at her feet, and as her hand was lifted in victory, the crowd erupted, chanting her name.

But inside, there was no joy in her triumph, only a hollow ache for the vengeance still out of her reach. Jonathan’s face lingered in her mind, a specter of loss and love that no victory could ever erase.

Each year, the anniversary of his death wrapped itself around her heart like a cold hand, its grip tightening with every moment. The weight of unshed tears and unspoken words had built an invisible barrier around her, a fortress of sorrow and rage she navigated every day.

Remembering his laugh, the way he’d tousle her hair—those memories cut like double-edged swords, offering both comfort and a searing reminder of all she had lost. And the only way she knew how to silence the voices threatening to consume her was to drown them out with the roar of a crowd cheering her name.

Not Minke. No. Her true name—Poison.

Poison. Poison. Poison.

She had earned the nickname the first time she stepped into a street fighting ring, beneath the blaring lights and the crowd’s deafening chants. She wasn’t supposed to win. All the odds were against her. Barely seventeen, facing a veteran fighter whose muscles were honed by years of skill and victory.

Yet there she was—the underdog, ready to defy every prediction. And she did. She struck without hesitation, each move calculated and precise. He never saw it coming—her attack, silent and lethal, just like poison.

She freed her hand from the referee’s grip and climbed out of the ring. The crowd’s hands reached for her, but she didn’t notice. Nor did she register the glares from The Hammer’s crew. She needed every ounce of will to keep the voices from consuming her.

Gathering her belongings in a daze, she pushed her way through the locker room and back to the entrance of the Quarry, desperate for fresh air to ease the tightening grip on her thoughts.

Only once outside, in the quiet of the night, did she allow any trace of emotion to slip onto her face. With a heavy sigh, she walked to her bike, took the helmet off the handle, and stared at her reflection in the visor. The emerald eyes staring back at her forced her to look away. Guilt filled her lungs like lead, as she stared at the reflection that mirrored her brother’s green eyes, making it hard to breathe.

Fourteen years. Fourteen years since her brother had been brutally murdered for his territory. Jonathan had been one of the most powerful crew leaders in the state, maybe even beyond. He’d taught her everything she knew. And when he died, she, just eighteen, had stepped into his shoes and taken over his reign. She swore by his lifeless body that she would avenge him.

Over a decade later, she still hadn’t succeeded—but bit by bit, she was reclaiming his territory.

“It’s a start,” she whispered, as if Jonathan could hear her.

She silently promised him that retaliation would prevail as she straddled her motorcycle and slipped on her helmet. With a roar, the engine sprang to life, and she sped into the night.

Cold air rushed past, sweeping away the thoughts that threatened to crowd her mind. There was only her and the speed as she weaved through the flow of traffic.

When she finally stopped at her apartment, she jumped into the shower and made sure she looked presentable. She slipped into a figure-hugging black blouse and an even tighter black leather skirt that traced every curve of her hourglass figure. Lacing up her knee-high boots, she focused on her breathing, trying to keep her mind as empty as possible.

She had no desire to attend the work function, but her presence was mandatory. Three years of blood, sweat, and frustration had gone into leading this video game project, and tonight was the pre-launch. Her boss would fire her if she didn’t show, but she’d much rather be back at the Quarry, blowing off more steam.

Glancing at the clock on her way out, she decided she was already late enough to make another stop before heading to the venue.

A few minutes later, Poison pulled up in front of The Grave Bar. She needed liquid courage and the deafening music to drown out everything.

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