Page 84 of Retaliation

“Have you completely lost your shit?” he yelled, his eyes wild. “She will kill you on sight.”

“Luckily, I brought insurance,” she countered, lifting the briefcase in her other hand and pulling free of him.

“Your fucking funeral, woman.”

She didn’t allow herself to think. She had spotted the guarded door to the right the moment she had entered the Temple, the floor-to-ceiling windows looking over the ring. With determination, she stalked to the guard, vaguely aware of Gunner on her heels, and before he could raise his hand to stop her, her briefcase met with his face, and she plucked open the steel door before he hit the floor. She took the narrow stairs leading upward, two at a time, and burst through the top door.

The sound of several firearms being cocked echoed through the room.

TWENTY NINE

Poison stared down the barrels of five AK-47s, pointing at her. She scanned the room and blew out a relieved breath when she didn’t see Scorpion in the stage box.

“What’s the meaning of this?” a woman demanded, her hair a curtain of midnight, framing her sharp features.

With her black beetle eyes staring Poison down, she had her own 9 mm pistol aimed at her head.

“I come bearing gifts,” Poison said, a slow smile spreading over her lips as she held up the suitcase.

Adrenaline made its way through her veins, igniting her nerve ends. This was dangerous, but she lived for danger—for the thrill of walking that very thin line between right and wrong, life or death.

“Gunnar. Dennis,” the woman said, looking past her, and she didn’t have to turn to know that they stood in the doorway behind her.

“Care to explain why Miss Poison is inside my arena?” she asked, her voice sweet, but her feline features did not match the sentiment.

“You know who I am?” Poison asked, trying to redirect her attention. She knew the woman would have their heads for this. “Seems like I’m at a disadvantage not knowing yours, Ring Leader.” She dipped her chin as a sign of respect for the woman’s rank.

“It is my business to know who my men interact with,” she purred, lowering her pistol, and her guards followed suit.

“Your men?” Poison scoffed, challenging the woman’s authority. “And here I thought Scorpion and Gunnar were first- and second lieutenant. So, if I’m not mistaken, Ring Leader, in the hierarchy of the Japanese Mafia, their rank supersedes yours. Unless hell froze over, and the Japanese Mafia finally left their small-dick mentality and made a woman Boss. If that’s the case, then you go girl!”

“I am Kitiara Tora, daughter of the Japanese Mafia Boss and Ring Leader of the Temple,” Kitiara answered.

Her chest puffing slightly at the mention of her title didn’t go unnoticed, and though the rational part of

Poison’s brain cautioned her to tread lightly, she couldn’t help but smirk at the woman.

“Ah, so Boss lady it is.” Poison smiled with another dip of her chin.

“You two are excused,” she said over Poison’s head at Dennis and Gunnar.

“Don’t be too hard on them. Pretend that I kidnapped them and forced them to bring me here.”

“You’ve got some balls, Miss Poison. I’ll give you that,” Kitiara answered and sat behind a desk, facing away from the fight below.

“Oh, I’ve got bigger balls than all your men combined,” She shrugged. “I just wear them on my chest.” She looked at her cleavage for emphasis.

Kitiara chuckled and indicated her to take the seat opposite her. She sat in the chair offered and slid the briefcase over the smooth wooden surface. Kitiara opened it and let out a low whistle.

“Twenty thousand in cash,” Poison stated. Every cent of the donations her territory gave.

“I don’t suppose it is a donation toward the Temple,” she asked, her straight eyebrows rising.

“It is yours if you grant me immunity and allow me in your ring,” Poison offered.

Tilting her head, Kitiara studied her for a moment, and she refused to break eye contact. Poison kept her expression neutral, and for once, the voices were quiet. She knew what she had to do in order to make Scorpion see reason.

“And if I do?” Kitiara asked, mimicking Poison’s casualness.

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