Page 4 of Retaliation

With her head held high, she made her way through the building, and even the music seemed to dim in her presence. She strolled to the bar on the left, and the production team immediately stood and moved out of her way.

Signaling the bartender, she called over the pounding music, “Two shots of vodka.”

He complied quickly, filling two glasses to the brim

and sliding them across the counter. She pushed one toward him, lifted the other, and downed it in one swift motion. Placing the empty glass in front of him, she leaned her forearms on the marble.

“I’ll make you a deal,” she mused.

Despite his initial apprehension—likely because she’d chased away his regulars—he seemed intrigued.

“If you keep my glass full tonight, I’ll make sure your hands are full by the end of the night.”

Her eyes darkened as she looked up at him through her lashes. He visibly swallowed, and a flirtatious smile tugged at her lips. With a slight nod, the bartender refilled her glass. She took it, turning to study the crowd.

She had no intention of showing the bartender a good time. Part of her wished she hadn’t fucked the Normal and waited to meet him instead. He was cute enough, but she knew she’d end up just as disappointed and unsatisfied.

The CEO of VirtuaCraft Studios caught her eye, waving her over to join their group. With a sigh, she downed her second shot and waited for the bartender to refill her glass before pushing away from the counter.

She took her time weaving through the crowd, relishing the way people stepped aside to let her pass.

“There she is!” her boss beamed as she neared. “Our fearless and somewhat quirky project leader.” He laughed at his own joke, slapping his knee like it was the funniest thing he’d ever heard.

She glared at him, and he immediately snapped his mouth shut, his teeth clacking together. Clearing his throat, he waved a hand toward the investors surrounding him.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he announced to the group, “this is Miss Minke Sloan. She’s the reason we get to drink tonight.”

By the smell of alcohol clinging to him—he’d clearly had one too many already—but she simply nodded at the onlookers. The man to her right, flanked by two bodyguards, turned his attention to her. How had she not noticed them before? The room was crawling with men in suits, all sporting earpieces.

“So the idea forShadow Strikewas yours?”

His raised eyebrow infuriated her. What? —did she not look capable of developing a first-person fighting game?

“Yes,” she replied, her pride sharp and clear. “Everything—from storyline to characters to code development—was my handiwork.” The man’s expression remained unmoved, unfazed by the venom in her voice.

“I told you she’s a feisty one, didn’t I?” her boss boomed, breaking the tension between her and the man with the bodyguards.

“If you’ll excuse me,” she hissed, hating the forced formality.

She downed the shot she still held and shoved the empty glass into the hand of the nearest bodyguard, and as she turned on her heel, she heard the guards laughing. “Look who’s been promoted to busboy, Scor.”

The last she heard was someone telling a man named Damian to fuck off.

The voices in her mind swelled, each one demanding attention, their chaotic whispers and shouts merging into a deafening roar that drowned out everything else. It overwhelmed her, numbing her senses to the point that she didn’t even notice Melissa until she almost collided with her near the fountain in the center of the hall. As usual, Melissa was surrounded by a few of the admin ladies, their eyes tracking the room like watchdogs.

“Well, well, well…” Melissa flashed a toothpaste-commercial smile. “Bet you just loved your moment in the sun back there, didn’t you, Sloan?” She crossed her arms, standing her ground.

Poison rolled her eyes, trying to walk past her. Melissa wasn’t worth the time or energy.

“Careful,” Melissa hissed. “Fly too close to the sun, and you might get burned.”

Poison stopped, turning slightly to meet Melissa’s gaze, a smirk playing at the corners of her mouth.

“The sun? Please, Melissa. I prefer the heat of battle to the warmth of the spotlight. But you? Be careful not to melt under all those bright lights you crave so much. After all, plastic is flammable.” Her tone dripped with amusement and disdain.

Melissa’s smile faltered, her composure shaken for a moment. But she recovered quickly, though the smile never quite reached her eyes.

“Oh, I don’t melt—I thrive. After all, it’s not the lights that make the star; it’s the darkness they outshine.”

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