Page 16 of Retaliation

Marty slid the bottles over, no questions, no small talk—just how she liked it. “Add it to my tab,” she said, gripping the cold glass necks.

He gave another nod, his eyes as unreadable as always. She turned, her fingers wrapped around the bottles, but the sight that greeted her stopped her cold.

Scorpion, Dennis, and Gunnar stood at attention, scanning the room like predators who’d just walked into unfamiliar territory. A muscle ticked in her jaw as she took them in. They looked every bit the part—eyes narrowed, shoulders tense, gazes sweeping over the room like they were waiting for something, someone.

“No security guards,” Dennis muttered into Scorpion’s ear, his voice low, assessing.

“Seven cameras,” Gunnar added, eyes sharp as they scanned the room.

Poison smirked, leaning in with a glint of sarcasm. “And only two exits. Three if you’re daring enough to use the roof.” She glanced between them, noting their mirrored expressions—eyebrows raised, lips a thin, serious line. A laugh bubbled up, and she let it spill out, shaking her head. They looked like they’d been cut from the same mold: all edge and vigilance, scanning shadows for ghosts that weren’t there.

“Lighten up, will you?” She raised her bottle, the glass cold against her fingers as she tipped it in a mock toast. “You’ll get septicemia from the sticks shoved up your asses.”

“Nothing wrong with being vigilant,” Gunnar shot back, his tone a bit too defensive, like he couldn’t quite handle her mockery. She met his glare with a sly grin and a shrug, taking a long sip.

“Oh, please.” She rolled her eyes, glancing toward the bar, where Marty polished a glass, looking as unbothered as a man could be. “If anyone even thinks about causing a scene here, they’ll be dealing with Marty and his twelve-gauge.”

Without waiting for a reply, she sauntered over to the pool table. The dim lighting, the faint scratch of an old rock song playing in the background—it was her kind of place, the kind of place where trouble felt like an invitation rather than a threat.

She pulled a cue from the rack, rubbing chalk over

the tip with slow, deliberate strokes, feeling the guys’ eyes on her. Looking back, she tilted her head, a challenge in her gaze. “So, what’s it going to be? Teams or challengers?”

“I’ll take you on.” Gunnar stepped forward, his tone thick with that cocky arrogance she’d seen too many times in the ring. It was the kind of confidence that wanted to test her, to see if she’d break or bend. Her fingers tightened around the cue, and a spark of something dark, something defiant, ignited in her chest.

“Bring it, then,” she said, her voice soft, but the edge unmistakable. She let her smirk linger, knowing it would only irritate him more.

A few short minutes later, Poison leaned over the pool table, carefully lining up her shot on the black and white balls. She felt the weight of Scorpion’s gaze, and his laughter broke the quiet tension.

“She’s got you by the balls, Gun,” he snickered, voice laced with that rough edge she was starting to crave. “Pun intended.”

Poison couldn’t stop the smile tugging at her lips. With steady hands, she lined up her shot, drew the cue back, and—

“So, how long have you two been dating?” Dennis’s voice cut through her focus, throwing her aim just enough to make her miss the shot.

She snapped her gaze to him, eyebrows raised in disbelief. “We’re not dating,” she said, feeling the need to clear it up a bit too quickly. Did Scorpion tell them differently? She risked a sidelong glance his way, but his face was maddeningly unreadable, offering her nothing but that frustrating calm.

“We only met last night,” she added, trying to explain, but Gunnar’s smirk told her she’d only made herself sound more defensive. She shook it off and decided to turn the tables. “So, you two are fighters as well?” she asked, rubbing chalk over her cue, letting the familiar action steady her nerves.

“I am,” Gunnar replied, flashing her a cocky grin. “Lil’ Den here, though—he’s got a more... supportive role.” His words confirmed her earlier suspicions about their dynamic.

Dennis laughed, gesturing toward his face. “Honestly? Just trying to keep the moneymaker intact.” Perched on a bar stool with his legs dangling, he looked more like a giant kid than a brawler, and she had to stifle a grin.

Scorpion’s eyes remained trained on her, intense, unreadable. Gunnar’s words floated through the air, seemingly innocent but carrying an edge. “Scor tells us you fight as well. We haven’t seen you around the Temple before.”

She caught the flash in Scorpion’s eyes, the warning he gave Gunnar. They’d let something slip. The Temple was Japanese territory, and she wasn’t supposed to know they were affiliated. It felt like a test—a subtle misstep meant to see how much she could pick up. She kept her expression cool, her tone flat, giving nothing away.

“I frequent a different ring,” she said, keeping her answer casual, a thread of indifference woven into her words. She knew better than to show too much knowledge too soon. In their world, ignorance was an asset—a currency that could buy her time, maybe even her life.

Gunnar missed his shot, glancing up at her with that skeptical look she was itching to knock off his face. “Your name sounds familiar, though.”

“The Underground’s a small community,” she shrugged, sinking the black ball with ease. “Word gets around. But for now, I believe that’s game over.”

She held Gunnar’s gaze for an extra beat, her expression smooth, and a smirk pulling at her lips.

Lighting a smoke, she savored the look on Gunnar’s usually smug face when he realized she had won the game. Yeah, they will never get along, she decided.

Gunnar slapped his cue onto the table with a little too much force, the wood echoing in the quiet. Dennis muffled a chuckle behind his hand. “Sore loser,” he murmured, eyes dancing with amusement as he shot Gunnar a look. And he reminded Poison of an oversized toddler.

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