Page 35 of Retaliation

She reluctantly sat down on the stretcher he indicated to her, her head hanging low.

“You have far more important things to do. I’m really okay.” She tried to get up again, but a voice from the other side of the room made her stay put.

“Minke Vivienne Sloan, sit your ass back down this instant,” Nina ordered. The sternness in her voice did not allow any space to argue.

“You called Nina?” she asked Nick incredulously.

“Of course I did. The moment I got the message you were coming, I phoned her,” he answered, rearranging some supplies on a trolley.

She looked at Nina as she stampeded toward her, Demi trailing behind. She had the look of a disappointed mother plastered on her face.

“Why would you do that?”

“Because he knew you would try and get out of here before he had a look at you,” Nina answered.

“I drove myself here, didn’t I? That has to count for something.”

Reaching her, Nina pushed her head back with a palm to her forehead, examining her lip.

“One of these days, you’re going to get yourself killed.”

But she wasn’t listening. She held her arms open, and Demi ran into them for a hug. Holding on to the child, she looked over Demi’s head to Nina.

“Everyone has a line that was drawn for them. Mine will come sooner or later,” she shrugged, looking down at the little dark-haired girl in her arms. “Hi, Lil D. How have you been?” She pulled Demi back just far enough to examine her.

“I’ve been practicing my high kicks. Wanna see?”

“Dancing high kicks,” Poison told Nina, “We’re not practicing fighting.” She laughed and winked at Demi.

Nina just raised her perfectly manicured eyebrows at her as she pulled Demi back.

“As soon as you let Nick take a look, you can go.”

“Yes, Mom,” she teased, allowing Nick to clean the wound.

She tried her best not to flinch when he swabbed the cut with antiseptic. Looking at the three of them, she thanked whoever was out there for having them in her life.

ELEVEN

The morning sun crept through the curtains, its gentle rays waking Poison from her sleep. She blinked groggily, momentarily disoriented, before the events of the previous night flooded back to her.

“Shit, shit, shit,” she swore as she grabbed her phone, staring at the time: Saturday, ten o’clock.

She had forgotten to set her alarm, which was a stupid oversight, seeing as today was the official launch, and she had a million things to do.

Heart racing, she bolted from her bed and raced to the bathroom, her steps echoing in the empty apartment.

With nimble fingers, she turned on the faucet, the rush of water echoing in the tiled room.

In a frenzy, she got undressed and stepped into the shower, the hot water cascading over her skin in a comforting embrace. She lathered her body with soap, the scent of lavender filling the air as she washed away the remnants of last night.

Getting out of the shower, she toweled off quickly, water droplets clinging to her fair skin like diamonds in the morning light.

After getting dressed, she strode to the sink and reached for her makeup bag. With practiced precision, she applied her makeup, smoothing it over her skin to conceal any signs of fatigue or stress or injury. Carefully, she dabbed concealer over the cut on her lip, layering it thickly to hide the evidence of the previous night’s fight.

For a moment, she tried to count how many times she had done so in the past fifteen years but quickly gave up. There were too many to count. Too many black eyes, too many broken noses, and too many cuts on her face.

With one last glance, she straightened her shoulders and headed out the door.

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