Page 27 of Retaliation

The abruptness of it left her dizzy, her pulse still racing as she slipped off the counter, her body protesting the loss of his warmth. She rushed to grab the phone, her irritation bubbling over as she answered without checking who it was.

“This better be important,” she snapped, her voice laced with the frustration of being pulled away from the edge of something incredible.

“Sloan, where the hell are you?” Melissa’s shrill voice cut through the line, instantly setting her teeth on edge. “Everyone is supposed to be at the official launch site at seven.”

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Panic surged through her veins, replacing the desire that had been coursing through her just moments before. How the hell had she let this happen? Well, she knew exactly how. But still, it shouldn’t have. Not today, of all days.

“I’ll be there in ten,” she barked, her mind racing as she scanned the room for her discarded clothes. The lie slipped out before she could even think twice. “I needed to, uh, run some last tests before tomorrow.” She didn’t wait for Melissa’s response, too focused on finding her underwear and jeans.

The call ended with a sharp click, and she tossed the phone aside, her heart pounding with anxiety and lingering arousal.

Her underwear was nowhere to be found, and after a quick, frantic search, she decided to hell with it. Hopping on one foot, she tried to wrangle her jeans on, her movements hurried and awkward. She could feel Scorpion’s eyes on her, and when she glanced up, she found him staring at her with an incredulous look.

“I’m late for work,” she explained, her voice breathless as she slid her boots on and grabbed her bag. She knew she must look like a mess—her hair still tousled from his fingers, his shirt hanging loosely off her shoulders, and the telltale flush of their earlier activities still coloring her cheeks. But there was no time to care. She was already out the door, halfway to a full-blown panic.

“Need me to drive you home?” he offered, his tone casual, but the sly smile on his lips betrayed his amusement. His eyes traveled over her body, taking in the sight of her hastily dressed state, and she could see the flicker of something more in his gaze—something possessive, almost proud.

She paused, her frustration softening for just a moment as she turned back to him. Despite the chaos she felt inside, she couldn’t help the warmth that spread through her chest at the sight of him, standing there so relaxed, so at ease. With a quick kiss, she tried to convey a

mix of gratitude and regret for leaving so suddenly.

“I’ll grab a Cruze to work, but thank you,” she said, her words hurried as she turned toward the door again. Just as she was about to leave, she called over her shoulder, “And thanks for lending me your shirt.”

She barely caught his low chuckle before the door closed behind her, the sound lingering in her mind as she rushed down the stairs. The memory of his touch, his taste, clung to her, making it difficult to focus on anything but him.

She took the stairs two at a time, her heartbeat echoing in her ears as she frantically ordered a Cruze. By the time she burst through the side door and onto the street, she was breathless, her mind racing just as fast as her pulse. A quick glance at her reflection in a nearby window confirmed what she already knew—she looked like hell. But there was no time to care.

Her fingers trembled slightly as she tracked the Cruze’s location on her phone, each second feeling like an eternity. She could see the little icon inching closer, and she headed to the corner of the street to wait for her ride, hoping the fresh air might calm the chaos inside her.

Fortunately, she didn’t have to wait long. The Hyundai pulled up, barely coming to a stop before she yanked the door open and jumped into the back seat. She directed the driver to the launch venue, her voice clipped and hurried, trying to convey the urgency without giving away the anxiety that churned in her gut.

The venue—a gritty, industrial warehouse—fit the

theme of the street-fighting game perfectly, its raw, urban aesthetic a stark contrast to the polished corporate events she was used to. At least she was already in the industrial area; that was one small mercy in an otherwise disastrous morning.

As the car lurched forward, she leaned back in the seat and let out a shaky breath, her mind racing through everything that still needed to be done. She could feel the tension in her shoulders, the responsibility pressing down on her, but she forced herself to focus on what she could control.

With a sigh, she reached into her backpack and pulled out her emergency makeup bag, silently thanking her past self for the foresight. The ride was bumpy, the car jostling over every pothole and crack in the road.

Once her makeup was in place, she ran her fingers through her tangled hair, wincing as she hit a few knots.

She tugged Scorpion’s shirt from where it hung loose on her shoulders and tucked it neatly into her jeans, trying to give the impression that she had at least attempted to put herself together this morning. As she did, his scent wafted up from the fabric, leather, cedar, and something uniquely him. Without thinking, she brought the shirt closer to her nose, inhaling deeply, and for a moment, she was back in his arms, the world outside forgotten.

But reality crashed back in as the warehouse came

into view. The car rolled to a stop, and she forced herself to focus, pushing thoughts of Scorpion to the back of her mind. There would be time to process everything later—right now, she had a job to do.

She straightened up, smoothed her shirt one last time, and steeled herself. As she stepped out of the car, she could still feel his presence, lingering like a ghost on her skin, in the scent of his shirt, in the memory of his touch.

Her heart pounded in her chest, as she stalked toward the double roll-up steel doors. The cool morning air did nothing to quell the heat still simmering under her skin. Her mind was a jumble of thoughts—of the launch, of the responsibilities that awaited her, of the man she had just left behind. But before she could make it inside, Melissa came charging at her.

“Melissa, it’s way too fucking early in the morning. What is it?” she demanded, her voice sharp and unforgiving. She didn’t even bother with pleasantries; she was too wired, too on edge to play nice.

“You’re late, that’s what,” Melissa snapped back, tapping her stylus impatiently on the tablet in her hands, the sound like nails on a chalkboard.

“I told you I had shit to do,” she shot back, her patience already wearing thin. “Besides, last I checked, you’re not the company’s CEO.” She pushed past her, not in the mood for a confrontation, not when she had so much else to deal with. But Melissa’s next words stopped her in her tracks, cutting through the morning air like a

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