Page 111 of Retaliation

Halfway home, her fury began to subside, replaced by the searing agony in her body. Her muscles ached, her knuckles throbbed, and every breath felt like fire. She tried to focus, but the pain was overwhelming. Her vision blurred, and her grip on the handlebars faltered. Before she could regain control, her bike veered sharply, crashing into the railings of a flyover.

The impact sent her flying, her body slamming against the fence. She barely missed an oncoming car, causing the driver to swerve wildly. The vehicle skidded, tires screeching, and came to a stop just a foot away from her. She lay there, stunned, her bike crumpled to her left.

Hot blood trickled down her cheek from a gash on her cheekbone. She winced, the metallic smell of copper filling her nostrils. Her head throbbed, and she cursed herself for not wearing her helmet. The adrenaline that had fueled her escape was now replaced by sharp, biting pain.

The driver of the black town car, wide-eyed and pale, scrambled out of his vehicle.

“Are you alright?” he shouted, his voice trembling.

A man with silver streaks running through his black hair stepped out from the backseat of the car. As she tried to sit up, he rushed toward her. The pounding of her blood echoed in her ears. He crouched next to her, and she squinted against the car’s headlights to see him. He appeared to be in his late fifties, his face etched with lines of concern. The driver, a much younger man in a uniform, also moved around the car toward her.

“I’ll call nine-one-one, Mister Yamatochi,” the driver said, pulling out his phone. The name struck a chord in her memory, but she couldn’t place it.

She touched her fingertips to her cheek, finding the source of the blood. The wetness on her skin was warm and sticky. Yamatochi pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her.

“Here, use this,” he said, his eyes kind but searching.

She took the handkerchief and pressed it to the cut on her cheek. The pain was sharp, but it grounded her. She glanced up at Yamatochi, trying to remember where she had heard his name before, when recognition hit her.

“I’m sorry, sir,” she murmured, her mind racing even as her body throbbed with pain. “You’re an investor in the video game I designed.”

Memories of Scorpion flanking the elegant businessman at the game launch assaulted her mind, Yamatochi bowing to her.

Yamatochi’s expression flickered with recognition. “Miss Sloan, my apologies,” he said and bowed his head. “It took me a moment to recognize you in the darkness.

She nodded, the pieces slowly falling into place. She had seen him frequently around the office in the months leading up to the launch. But that seemed so far removed from her current reality, sprawled out on the cold pavement with blood trickling down her face.

“Are you alright, Miss Sloan?” Yamatochi asked, his voice filled with genuine concern.

“I’m fine,” she said, though the tremor in her voice betrayed her. “Just need a moment.”

Yamatochi looked unconvinced but didn’t press further. “My driver will take you to the hospital. You need to be checked out.”

“Thank you, sir, that’s very kind but not necessary.” She pressed the handkerchief to her cheek, feeling the sting of the cut as she applied pressure.

Yamatochi’s eyes widened when he noticed her bruised hands, but he quickly composed himself.

“Are those injuries from the crash?” he asked, pointing to her hands.

She glanced down, seeing the damage Scorpion’s training had caused. Her knuckles were raw, the skin broken and bruised.

“No, sir,” she replied, hesitating for a moment. She should have lied; he would have questions.

“I’ve been training,” she tried to explain, realizing she had only given him more reason to inquire further.

“You’re not a fighter, are you?” Yamatochi asked, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. But before she could respond, the driver intervened.

“I called the closest hospital, sir,” the driver said, bowing his head slightly. “They said an ambulance would take at least half an hour to arrive. I also arranged for someone to pick up her motorcycle.”

“No, it’s okay. I’m fine. If my bike still works, I’ll drive it home,” she protested, trying to get up, but Yamatochi placed a firm hand on her shoulder.

“Nonsense. I’ll have none of that,” he said. “We’ll drive you to the hospital to get checked out, and then we’ll take you home.”

She opened her mouth to protest again, but Yamatochi cut her off.

“I assure you, Miss Sloan, I’m not going to kidnap you or hurt you. It’s the least we can do after nearly crushing you against this barricade.”

He rose to his feet. Bending down, he placed her arm around his neck, and carefully helped her to her feet. She tried to stand on her own, but her legs were too numb to carry her weight. When her knees buckled, he caught her and held her steady.

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