Page 52 of Retaliation

As he approached, the guard’s steely gaze dropped, a silent acknowledgment of his authority. With a nod, the guard swung the door open, granting him passage with a curt gesture.

Ascending the narrow staircase, the sound of the crowd faded into a distant murmur when he reached the top, the world outside reduced to a mere backdrop to the

chaos unfolding within him.

He stepped forward, his gaze sweeping over the sleek interior of the private viewing box. Floor-to-ceiling glass panels framed the arena below, casting a surreal glow over the fighters locked in combat.

To his left, a fully stocked bar gleamed invitingly, its array of bottles promising an escape. To his right, a desk cluttered with paperwork stood as a silent witness to the unseen workings of the underworld. And in the center of it all, an oversized leather couch.

Kitiara sat on the couch, looking at the fight below, her black hair scraping her shoulders.

With a soft click, he closed the door behind him, the sound echoing like a gunshot in the room’s stillness. The metallic clang of the door startled Kitiara, her hand darting instinctively to the CZ PO7 pistol at her side.

Reflexes honed by a lifetime of survival kicked in, propelling him forward in a blur of motion. In an instant, he disarmed the woman, his movements fluid and precise as he pinned her against the sofa, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he stared into her startled eyes.

“Do you have a death wish or something?” Kitiara’s voice sliced through the tension.

Her tone edged with concern as she reclaimed her pistol from Phillip’s grasp, sliding it back into its holster with practiced ease.

Phillip’s jaw clenched at her question, his muscles tensing beneath the weight of his pent-up fury. He didn’t

have a death wish; he had something far more dangerous.

“No, just a hit list,” he muttered.

His words were heavy as he sank onto the couch beside Kitiara, his elbows resting on his knees.

Kitiara’s hand moved to touch his shoulder, a gesture of comfort. But he recoiled from her touch, the memory of his brother’s death burning like a brand in his mind.

“I found Double R’s killer,” he growled, the words tasting bitter on his tongue as he clenched his fists, the sharp crack of his knuckles punctuating the.

Kitiara’s eyes widened, and then her brow furrowed in confusion.

“Why didn’t you start with that?” her voice rose with frustration.

Her hand shot to the air as she signaled something, and Phillip only then noticed the guard in the corner. Fuck, he was so blinded by fury that his vigilance was slipping.

He waved off the guard she had signaled, his gaze never leaving Kitiara as he delivered the damning truth.

“It’s Poison,” he spat the words like venom, the bitterness of the betrayal like ash on his tongue and Kitiara reached for her pistol.

“Put away your gun. I will kill her with my bare hands,” he said, his voice devoid of emotion as he stared into the depth of his own rage.

Kitiara’s disbelief was evident, her shock mirrored

in the furrow of her brow.

“Are you sure?” she whispered, her voice barely a breath.

“Oh, I’m sure.”

“How do you know?” Her eyes narrowed in confusion.

“She’s the leader of the Silver Serpents,” he spat the words like fire.

“The Silver Serpents? Shadow’s crew?” Kitiara’s tone sounded skeptical, and a flicker of doubt danced behind her eyes.

He caught the subtle shift in her demeanor, how her voice faltered ever so slightly at the mention of Shadow’s crew. There was something she wasn’t saying, something lurking beneath the surface.

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