Page 19 of Retaliation

“Keeping track of me?” she challenged, crossing her arms. “That’s called stalking, and I believe a valid cause for a restraining order.”

“No, no, no. Just haven’t seen you around here so early. You’re usually still playing your little video games.” His dismissive tone made her bristle.

“Again, stalking.” She could see the red tinge staining his neck at her bluntness, a small victory.

“That death trap of yours,” he pointed to the helmet dangling from her fingers, clearly changing the subject. “Tenants be complaining. You come and go at all hours of the night, and it’s making a loud racket.”

“According to my lease agreement, there’s nothing that prohibits me from…” She made air quotes with her one hand. “Coming and going at all hours.”

His only response was to gawk like a fish, his mouth opening and closing uselessly. She took the cue to leave, pushing past him toward the stairs.

As she climbed the steps, she couldn’t shake the feeling of his eyes on her back, a lingering discomfort that clung to her like a shadow. “Creep,” she muttered under her breath, quickening her pace.

She ran up the steps, taking two at a time, until she reached her apartment on the third floor. The voices in her mind got louder as a million questions tried to find answers at the same time.

For a moment, she just leaned against the inside of her shut door, taking deep breaths with her eyes closed. The past twenty-four hours were a lot to unpack. Opening her eyes, they came to focus on her drafting table. She walked over to it, sat down, and pulled a sketch pad from the trolley to her right.

Some people saw a therapist, others kept a journal, but she preferred pouring her emotions onto a white page through a coal pencil when she couldn’t unleash it through her fists. Placing her headset over her ears, the blaring of drums and guitars swept her away, and she started to sketch.

An hour later, she stared into the black pits of Scorpion’s eyes perfectly captured on the page. A familiarity tugged at a far corner of her mind, but try as she might, it was to no avail. She had no idea why they seemed so familiar, maybe in a previous life. She laughed at herself.

Her phone’s screen lit up, driving the idiotic thoughts from her mind. Removing her headphones, she stared at the unknown caller ID. Her brow furrowed as she hit the answer button. “Speak,” she drawled, not allowing her pencil to leave the paper.

“Poison?” Her spine stiffened at the sound of Scorpion’s voice crackling through the line. She hadn’t expected to hear from him this soon, hadn’t quite prepared herself for the low timbre of his voice reaching into her space.

“Wow, that was fast,” she replied, masking her surprise with a lazy drawl of sarcasm, letting him think she was unfazed.

“What was?” Confusion edged his tone, and she felt a flicker of amusement.

“Usually, men follow the two-day rule before calling a woman. That isifthey called,” she teased, a smirk tugging at her lips, keeping her tone light despite the thrum of anticipation building under her skin.

“You mispronouncedboys, Little Viper. Men know what they want, and what I want is you…” His voice held a quiet authority that slid under her defenses, settling in her chest with an unexpected weight. “I want you to join me tonight.”

A swarm of sensations crashed over her, her pulse hitching. He didn’t ask. He stated it. Like she’d already agreed.Careful, she thought, steadying her voice even as something inside her thrilled at his confidence. “And what did you have in mind?”

“I’ll pick you up at nine.”

She almost laughed at his certainty. “And if I say no?” But she had a feeling he wasn’t accustomed to hearing no. A part of her didn’t want him to be.

“You want me to stalk your address instead of just telling me?” His voice was edged with a dangerous amusement, and she sensed he would, that he’d find her if he had to. The flutter in her stomach turned into something sharper, and she shifted in her seat.

She scoffed, attempting to regain control. “How would you even accomplish that? It’s not like you know my real name or anything useful for your little search,” she challenged, curiosity now stirring alongside the thrill.

“Well, Miss Minke Sloan…” Her entire body froze, every nerve on edge as her real name rolled off his tongue. “You’re forgetting I had a lovely little chat with your boss.”

Her grip on the pencil tightened, her heart thundering against her ribs. She felt a dark twist of admiration, even as unease prickled up her spine. “Well played, Mr. Thompson. Well played.” She forced her voice into a smooth, controlled tone, giving him nothing. “You can pick me up at the corner of Kohler and Mane.”

“It’s Phillip,” he corrected, his voice radiating that steady, infuriating confidence, “and I’ll see you at nine.” The line clicked dead.

She stared at the phone, her heart racing, the thrill of the unexpected unfurling through her veins. The tension—the pull between excitement and wariness—wrapped around her like a second skin, the wasps in her stomach buzzing with a need she didn’t want to analyze.

She set her phone down and leaned back in her chair, staring at the ceiling. Nine o’clock, then. She smiled to herself, excitement bubbling beneath the surface.Let’s

see what you’ve got, Phillip Thompson.

She sat for a moment, staring at the wall behind her desk with a grin. She had a date withtheScorpion. With Phillip. She wanted to kick herself for acting like a child, but she couldn’t remember the last time she felt anything for anyone. And for once, the voices seemed contemptuous of her feelings.

Phone in hand, Poison dialed a familiar number as she crossed to her closet, her mind already half-lost in the conversation she was about to have.

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