Page 3 of Retaliation

She leaned in, her hand slipping to the nape of his neck. Pulling him close, she whispered in his ear.

“And if I take you to a restroom stall and let you fuck me?”

She welcomed the distraction he offered, the one she needed to drown out the voices clawing at her mind, to push away the ghosts of her past.

“They’d be so broke, they’d have to hitchhike home,” he grinned, flashing those dimples again.

Grabbing his hand, she towed him toward the restroom. As she passed the bar, she caught Cat’s eye and winked. In return, Cat eyed the man she was dragging along and blew her a kiss, a wide grin spreading across her face.

Poison peeled her face from the wall and straightened her skintight black skirt. Her gaze drifted over the vulgar graffiti scrawled across the stall, and wondered how many faces had been shoved against it in this same confined space. A toilet flushed near the front of the restroom, the stale stench of piss clinging to the air as she turned to what’s-his-face behind her.

“That was… fun, I guess,” she said, rolling her eyes and patting him on the chest.

She reached past his hips to unlatch the stall door, not bothering with the fact that he still stood there, pants bunched around his ankles, the condom gleaming under the red lights.

Unhooking her small backpack from the door, she slung it over her shoulders and walked out.

“Should I...” he stuttered, fumbling to pull up his pants with trembling fingers. “Should I call you sometime?”

She paused, tilting her head as she studied him. “Oh, sweetie,” she purred. A smile tugged at her lips as the Normal, who had just fucked her, rubbed the back of his neck, his gaze dropping to her knee-high boots. She suppressed a laugh, certain she’d just fulfilled one of his bucket-list fantasies. “I don’t even remember your name anymore.”

With that, she walked out of the men’s restroom without a backward glance. She’d hoped the Normal would be enough to distract her, fuck her senseless, but it didn’t work. Her mind still screamed.

Waving to Cat behind the bar, she headed for the door, ignoring the loud applause from the Normal’s friends as they approached.

Outside, she could finally breathe. The fresh night air filled her lungs, and she held it there for a moment, trying to still the chaos in her head.

She couldn’t put off the pre-launch anymore. With a sigh, she mounted her bike and sped toward the venue.

TWO

Poison sped onto the curb in front of the venue, sending valets and guests scattering like field mice. The upper-class neighborhood slept beneath a blanket of another typical night. The monotony grated on her nerves. She’d rather face a dozen opponents in the ring than succumb to a life this mundane.

She took a moment to survey the scene—the glass building loomed above her like an enormous opponent. Flashbacks of high school house parties assaulted her as she scanned the cliques of attendees. Same hierarchy, same bullshit.

Executives mingled with investors. Admin staff—mostly beautiful secretaries and assistants—stood in judgment, gossiping behind their hands. The production team gathered at the bar, sipping whiskey, while the software engineers, the office’s shy nerds, huddled in the corner.

And then there was Melissa. Head of public relations and the office equivalent of a high school head cheerleader, she had a direct line to everyone—from the lowest IT support to the company’s CEO. Poison watched as Melissa threw her head back, laughing at something the CEO said.

Shaking her head, Poison swung a long leg over the saddle and dismounted her bike. She just wanted to get the evening over with and get back to the Quarry.

As she removed her helmet, her long black hair cascaded down her back like a waterfall. She checked her makeup in the visor. Her thick eyeliner held up, but her black lipstick had stayed behind on the Normal’s face.

Suppressing a smile, she applied another layer from the tube in her backpack. She pulled out her company card, slung the lanyard around her neck, and shouldered her bag.

When she looked up, everyone was staring. She let a feline smile curl across her lips.

Humans always feared what they didn’t understand, and their expressions showed it—fear and resentment twisted their faces into near-constipated looks.

She thrived on it. In the Quarry, she was used to being underestimated. As a female fighter, toxic masculinity was her constant opponent. Every man thought he’d be the one to take her down. But out here, among the Normals, she was something else—an instant threat to their perfect little world. Her pale skin, midnight hair, black clothes, and matching makeup made her a freak in their eyes. It kept them at arm’s length, and that’s exactly how she preferred it.

A valet boy had the balls to approach her with an outstretched hand, eager to park her Ducati Panigale V4. She rewarded his courage by tossing the keys into his open palm.

“Just don’t crash it,” she teased with a wink as she strode toward the glass-framed building.

His expression said it all—he understood the threat laced in her words as he scurried away.

Every guest, even her colleagues, stepped aside to let her pass. Not even the private security at the entrance dared to stop her.

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