Page 2 of Retaliation

Drums and guitars reverberated through her bones as she stepped into the overcrowded club. Bodies, slick with sweat, moved to the rhythm of the music, and metal cages dangled from the ceiling, half-naked dancers swaying inside.

She weaved her way through the crammed dance floor, her mind just as chaotic. Slipping onto a barstool, she was greeted by a familiar face and a warm smile.

“Mi hermana, my sister,” Cat purred, pouring her a glass of vodka. “You look awful.”

Cat slid the glass in front of her and leaned over the bar, giving her a quick hug before pulling back.

“Don’t start, Cat,” Poison muttered, her lips brushing the brim of her tumbler. “Not tonight. I’m not in the mood.”

Taking a sip, she savored the warmth as the liquor burned down her throat.

“Oh, come now, mi hermana. Are you ever in any other mood?” Cat teased, and despite herself, Poison smiled—childlike mischief sparkled in Cat’s rich brown eyes.

Before she could respond, Cat danced away to serve other customers. Poison listened to the music, staring into the clear liquid, swirling it slowly, trying to keep her mind as blank as the glass in her hand.

A loud cheer from the table to her right snapped her attention, and she looked up to find a group of Normals ogling her. In a goth club, Normals weren’t uncommon. Humans had always been drawn to what they considered socially unacceptable.

She watched with bored curiosity as one of them—a rather attractive, farm boy-looking Normal—was shoved toward her by his friends. Their laughter and howls echoed like a pack of dogs as he shyly made his way over.

“Excuse me, miss,” he drawled, his southern accent rolling off his tongue.

He tried to lean his elbow on the bar, but it slipped, and he nearly hit his head. Another howl erupted from his friends, and he turned back, trying to quiet them.

“I apologize for my friends’ behavior,” he said, unfazed by his own stumble.

Despite the storm inside her, she smiled. The countryman was oddly charming.

“What’s the wager?” she asked, knocking back her drink.

“Pardon, miss?” Guilt flashed across his face, and she couldn’t help but stare at the innocence. She found it fascinating.

She hopped off her seat, her head barely reaching his chin as she gazed up at him through thick lashes.

“I asked, what’s the wager? What did they bet on, and how much?”

His cheeks flushed deep red. “Oh, no, it’s nothing like that.”

She leaned to the side, peering around his broad chest at his friends, who were elbowing each other and tossing bills onto the table. The Normal followed her gaze and shook his head.

“Want to try that again?” she asked, turning back to him.

“They bet I’d crash and burn,” he admitted, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, dimples showing. “Said you’d never be interested.”

Leaning back, she gave him a slow once-over. He was conventionally handsome, with that boy-next-door charm—andshe was in the mood for a distraction.

“Poison,” she said, offering her hand.

He took it, bending down to brush his lips over her knuckles. If he noticed the bruises already forming from her fight, he didn’t mention them.

“Ethan,” he replied, straightening.

“What do you get if you don’t crash and burn?” she purred, trailing a finger down his chest.

His spine stiffened, his breath deepening as recognition flickered in his eyes.

“The fact that you’re still talking to me is two

hundred already,” he said, his confidence growing with each word.

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