Page 112 of Retaliation

He looked at his driver. “Damian, how long will they take to come for the young lady’s motorcycle?”

“It’s Poison, sir. My name is Poison,” she introduced herself, leaning against him for support.

“They’ll be here within a few minutes, sir,” the young man replied.

“Well, Miss Poison, how about something strong for the pain?” Yamatochi offered as he helped her into the back of the car.

She winced as she tried to find a position that didn’t make her want to scream. Finally, she settled and answered, “It would be disrespectful to refuse, sir.”

To her surprise, Yamatochi laughed, a deep, sincere sound that seemed to lighten the heavy atmosphere.

“I know that, but if my nerves are rattled, I can only imagine how you feel. You could do with a drink.”

He opened a small cabinet beside him, revealing a bottle of whiskey and two glasses. Carefully, he poured a measure into each glass and handed one to her.

She hesitated, then took the glass. The burn of the whiskey seared down her throat, spreading a numbing comfort through her aching body.

“Thank you, sir,” she said, taking another long sip from the tumbler.

“You’re welcome. I’m sorry we must wait before getting you to a hospital, but we can’t leave your bike here,” Yamatochi apologized.

She waved her hand dismissively, too engrossed in the whiskey to respond appropriately.

“But you didn’t answer my question earlier. Are you a fighter?” Yamatochi persisted, his gaze steady.

She hesitated. “Depends on what type of fighter you mean, sir,” she replied, avoiding a direct answer.

At that moment, a pickup truck pulled up next to them, saving her from further probing. She knew it was only a temporary reprieve.

“Where should your bike be dropped off?” Yamatochi asked.

“Corner of Front street and Navy Pier,” she said, the rim of her whiskey glass almost empty.

Yamatochi repeated the address to the man standing by the window. The man bowed slightly, just like Damian had, and with Damian’s help, hoisted her bike onto the truck. Once the truck pulled away, Damian got into the car and started the engine. When they began moving, Yamatochi spoke again.

“You asked what type of fighters I know about,” he said. “I know about all of them, but I really hope you’re not part of the underground fighting scene.”

She choked on her last sip of whiskey, caught off guard by his words. She coughed, the burning sensation in her throat matching the sudden rush of anxiety.

Yamatochi’s eyes narrowed slightly, observing her reaction. “You are, aren’t you?” he said, more a statement than a question.

“Yes,” she admitted, not ashamed of who she was. “I am a streetfighter and a damn good one at that.”

THIRTY NINE

Yamatochi’s face tightened, and he sighed deeply. “When I first heard about the video game you were involved in, I had my suspicions. The game had elements that seemed… too close to certain realities. I needed to know if it implicated the Japanese, if it was revealing too much. So, I invested in finding out more.”

Poison’s heart skipped a beat. “The Japanese?” she echoed, her voice barely a whisper.

“Yes, the Japanese Mafia,” he confirmed, his tone grave. “To ensure I got the information I needed, I assigned Mister Thompson to the task. He was to get close to you, understand what you knew, and determine if you

posed a threat.”

Her world tilted, her breath catching in her throat. Scorpion hadn’t just stumbled into her life—he had been sent to spy on her. The betrayal stung, a sharp pain deeper than any physical injury.

“You mean to tell me… I was just a task?” Her voice trembled with anger and hurt.

Yamatochi nodded, his expression regretful. “It started that way. His feelings for you even had me doubted his loyalty, suspecting he might have shifted his allegiance. But he assured me that you and your game didn’t pose a threat. The night of the launch he phoned me and wanted out. Of course I couldn’t have it, not until I knew where I stood with you.”

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