Page 32 of Retaliation

A few fights later, she was ready, her body ready after warming up and stretching in the dim solitude of the locker room. The adrenaline coursing through her veins felt like a living thing, and as she moved to the edge of the bleachers, she could feel the pulse of the arena, the crowd’s energy seeping into her skin. The atmosphere was electric, buzzing with the raw excitement of the night, every cheer and roar pushing her deeper into the zone.

She stood at the edge, every muscle in her body taut, coiled with anticipation. Each fight before hers had been a mere prelude, a steady build-up that only served to sharpen her focus, to stoke the fire that burned within her. Her breath was steady, but her heart pounded with the relentless rhythm of someone who had been waiting far too long for this moment. Every second that ticked by,

every punch thrown by the fighters before her, fueled the rising tension in her chest. This was it—tonight could be the night she had been waiting for.

Finally, the moment she had been preparing for arrived. The announcer’s voice echoed through the cavernous space, commanding attention, and silence fell over the crowd like a wave. When he called her name, it sent a thrill down her spine.

“And now, ladies, gentlemen, and all those thirsty for blood, put your hands together for the reigning queen of the Quarry, Poison!”

The crowd erupted, a choir of cheers and applause that reverberated off the walls, drowning out the scattered jeers from those foolish enough to think they could take her down. The noise was deafening, a physical force that washed over her, and she welcomed it, drawing strength from the adoration and fear she inspired.

As she stepped forward, she let her gaze sweep across the crowd, her eyes scanning the throngs of faces with a cold, calculating intensity. She was searching, hunting for any sign of him.

Reaper.

The name that had haunted her dreams, the face that had been burned into her memory like a brand. She had waited over a decade for this, had fought and bled to keep her place at the top, all in the hopes that one day he would show himself again.

“Our queen has made an open challenge,” the

announcer declared. “Is anyone brave enough to step up and see why she’s royalty?”

The question hung in the air, and for a moment, time seemed to stretch, the anticipation almost unbearable. She stood tall, her expression a mask of cool confidence, but inside, her heart hammered against her ribcage, each beat a silent dare. Would he finally show his face? Would tonight be the night she avenged her brother, and ended the nightmare that had haunted her for thirteen long years?

She could feel the eyes of the crowd on her, could sense the whispers, the speculation rippling through the stands. Everyone was waiting, watching, wondering who would be foolish enough to step into the ring with her. But all she cared about was one man. One fight.

As the seconds dragged on, she tightened her fists at her sides, her nails digging into her palms. If Reaper was here, if he had the courage to face her after all this time, she would make sure this night ended with his blood on her hands. The thought sent a surge of determination through her. No matter who stepped forward, she was ready to give them everything she had. But if it was him… if it was Reaper…

She would make him pay.

A hush fell over the crowd, the buzz of excitement snuffed out in an instant as they waited for a response, the tension thickening with each passing second. It was the kind of tension that prickled against the skin, like the

charged air before a storm, promising something explosive. Her heart thundered in her chest, the sound echoing in her ears as every nerve in her body went on high alert. She was poised, ready, every instinct sharpened to a fine point as she waited for the inevitable challenge.

Then, from the far end of the arena, movement caught her eye. A figure emerged from the shadows, pushing through the crowd with an air of arrogance that set her teeth on edge. He swaggered forward, each step deliberate, a cocky grin plastered across his face as he made his way toward her.

Disappointment tightened in her chest like a vice—it wasn’t Reaper.

The man who had stepped up was a brute, his hulking frame rippling with muscles that strained against the fabric of his sleeveless shirt. Tribal tattoos snaked across his broad shoulders, giving him an air of menace that was undercut by the glint of overconfidence in his eyes. He met her gaze with a sneer, his bravado almost laughable to her.

“I’ll take you on, sweetheart,” he drawled, his voice arrogant, as if he believed he had already won. “Let’s see if you’re as tough as they say.”

Her lip curled in disdain, a flicker of contempt flashing across her face. She said nothing, allowing her silence to speak for her. Words were unnecessary—her reputation had already done the talking. The crowd’s attention was fixed on her. They were eager, hungry to see

blood spilled, to witness the reigning queen of the Quarry put this cocky challenger in his place.

But her thoughts were elsewhere, on the man she had hoped to see, the one she had been preparing for. This brute was just another obstacle, another fighter to dismantle. She could already see his weakness, could read the arrogance in his stance, the way he underestimated her because of her size, her gender, or maybe just because of his own inflated ego.

Her gaze remained locked on him, cold and unblinking, as she sized him up. The crowd roared in approval, eager for the fight to begin, but she remained still, her mind already calculating, planning. She would make quick work of him, strip him of his bravado, and remind everyone why she was the queen. But even as she prepared herself for the fight, a bitter taste lingered in her mouth—the taste of disappointment. She had wanted him. She had wanted Reaper.

She took a deep breath, the air sharp and metallic in her lungs, and let her disappointment fuel her. If Reaper wouldn’t face her tonight, then she would make damn sure that when he did, he would find her at her most lethal, her most ruthless. This fool would be nothing more than a stepping stone, another nameless face in a long line of challengers who had dared to step into her ring.

With that thought, she shifted her stance, her muscles coiled and ready, every part of her honed in on the fight ahead. The crowd erupted into cheers, sensing

the start of the battle, but her focus never wavered. She was a predator, and the man before her was just prey.

With a nod from the referee, the bell rang, shattering the chaos like a gunshot, and the match was on. She launched herself forward, every muscle taut with the lethal energy of a cornered predator. She moved with a speed that blurred the edges of her form, her movements a deadly dance of precision and purpose as she circled her opponent, her eyes narrowing in search of an opening.

But this wasn’t going to be easy. Her opponent wasn’t just a brute; he was skilled, relentless, meeting her ferocity with his own. Each of her blows was met with equal force, and when his fist connected with her lip, the impact was sharp, a flare of pain that sent a metallic taste flooding her mouth. She could feel the sting, the blood beginning to well, but she swallowed the pain, refusing to let it slow her down. Pain was an old friend, a constant companion, and she had learned long ago how to harness it, to turn it into fuel.

---