Page 40 of Retaliation

“That’s not an answer.” She straightened and turned to face him, seeing straight through his bullshit.

She continued when he didn’t answer: “You don’t have to give me the details. Just the reason. Was it revenge? Debt? Self-preservation?”

Taking a steadying breath, he stared out the window on the far wall, memories flashing like a movie in his mind’s eye. He couldn’t remember a life without fighting in it.

“Debt,” he finally answered, his voice quiet but steady. The single word hung between them, loaded with meaning that neither of them needed to unpack just yet. “You?”

“Self-preservation,” she stated bluntly, no hesitation, no need to soften the truth. It was a fact, plain and simple, and it told him more about her than any lengthy explanation could have. “Your turn.”

He looked at her, eyebrows lifting in mild surprise.

“For what?”

“To ask a question. We barely know anything about each other,” she replied, her tone casual, but there was an openness in her gaze that invited him to delve deeper.

“Fair enough,” he conceded, turning his whole body toward her, his arm resting on the back of the couch as he considered his options. There were a hundred things he could ask, a thousand layers to her that he wanted to peel back one by one. But one question bubbled to the surface, the curiosity too strong to ignore. “How on earth did you end up at a video game company?”

He watched, caught off guard, as a blush crept over her face, slowly spreading to tint her neck and ears. It was a stark contrast to the hardened exterior she usually presented, and for a moment, he was stunned by how it softened her, made her seem almost vulnerable. Her smile widened, and he found himself leaning in, eager to hear the story behind that blush.

“You want the short or long version?” she asked, her voice tinged with a playfulness that he hadn’t heard from her before. All traces of the earlier ghosts in her eyes, gone.

“Oh, if there’s an option, it must be a good story,” he teased, feeling the tension that had gripped them earlier begin to ease. The air between them felt lighter, the darkness that had clouded her eyes just minutes ago lifting. He was captivated by the change in her, the way she seemed to shed the burdens she carried, if only for a moment. “Long version, please.”

She settled back against the cushions, her smile widening further as she prepared to tell him. The blush remained, but it only added to the intrigue, making him more eager to hear every detail. As she began to speak, he could see the memories playing out in her mind, each one bringing a new spark to her eyes, a new layer to the person he was just beginning to understand.

She chuckled, her fingers tracing absent-minded patterns on the backrest of the couch, an inch away from his fingers, and he had to resist the urge to take her hand.

“Well, it all started when I was just a kid, barely old enough to reach the keyboard. I had a knack for electronics, from alarm systems to computers. My brother, Jonathan, gave me my first computer when I was eleven.”

Her gaze drifted to a distant memory, a flicker of nostalgia dancing in her eyes.

“I learned to code practically before I could tie my shoelaces. Soon enough, I discovered the thrill of hacking into Wi-Fi routers and gaming servers and playing all those fancy games without spending a dime. We didn’t exactly have the luxury of buying games back then. Shit, I’m sure my brother even stole the computer from somewhere.”

A wistful smile tugged at the corners of her lips as she got lost in the memory.

“Jonathan, he always believed in me. He saw potential where others saw trouble. He encouraged me to pursue my passion, to turn my skills into something more than just a hobby or something illegal. So when the opportunity to join VirtuaCraft came knocking, I knew it was my chance to honor his memory, to make something of myself.”

Her gaze met his, filled with determination and a hint of vulnerability. “And here I am, living out his legacy, one line of code at a time.”

“The game?” he asked.

“Shadow Strike is a tribute to him.” Her smile faltered, and he hated the sadness returning to her eyes as she looked away.

Cupping her chin, he pulled her forward and placed a soft kiss on her lips—sighing internally at the warmth of her mouth. But he forced himself to pull back, to break the kiss and focus on her.

“Your turn.” He smiled, placing his hand on hers, and traced the lines in her palm.

“Your tattoo,” she began.

“Which one?” Taking off his suit jacket, he rolled up his sleeve to show the map of tattoos snaking up his forearm.

She ran her fingers over the intricate design, from his wrist to his bicep, sending a chill down his spine and fire through his veins.

“I was talking about the one on your throat,” she said, touching her fingertips to his neck, and he swallowed hard against them. “What’s the meaning behind it? You have a glass statue of it in your apartment.”

Smiling, he answered: “The cracked skull signifies the mortality we all dance with within the underworld, a nod to the close calls and the lives that have brushed past death. It’s a reminder of the fragility of life and the strength found in surviving against the odds,” He moved her fingers higher to where the black lotus sprouted. “The black lotus blooming from the ruin represents beauty and power rising from destruction. It’s a symbol of rebirth and the potential to flourish even in the darkest of times,” He moved her hand to the middle of his throat. “And the scorpion, emerging ready to defend or attack, embodies my spirit—guarded, resilient, and potent. The scorpion’s presence indicates a willingness to fight, protect, and stand steadfast in the face of adversity. It marks a balance between danger and protection.”

“It suits you very well,” she whispered as if lost in thought.

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