Retaliation (Poison #1)

ONE

U nder the harsh glare of floodlights, the Quarry buzzed with electric anticipation. In the middle of the crowd’s chaos, enveloped by their cheers and roars, Minke Sloan stood poised at the edge of the ring—her muscles coiled and senses razor-sharp. With her hair braided in a black halo around her head, her green eyes flamed with venom, focused on her opponent.

The Quarry, carved from the remnants of an old stone mine, was more than a fighting arena—it was a crucible where legends were forged and fears were faced. It stood as a testament to the raw, primal energy of the fighters who stepped into its circle. The crowd that packed the stands was a mosaic of the city’s underbelly, drawn together—thrill-seekers, the broken, those searching for redemption or escape. Here, in the Quarry, the roar of the crowd, the clash of fists against flesh, and the taste of victory and defeat were the only truths.

The air hung heavy with the stench of sweat and blood, a grim reminder of what was at stake. This was her refuge, her battlefield, where every fight was a dance with death—and tonight, she was ready to lead.

Her gaze locked on the opponent across the ring, a giant of a man with a reputation as solid as his punches. They called him “The Hammer,” and it wasn’t just a name. His blows struck like thunder, leaving destruction in their wake.

As the bell rang, silence swept over the arena, the crowd holding their breath in anticipation and bloodlust. The fighters circled each other, two predators locked in a standoff.

With the grace of a serpent, she struck first, her fists moving at blinding speed. Each blow reverberated through the arena, the impact of knuckles against bone and flesh echoing like a drumbeat.

She poured every ounce of pain and fury into her fists. Her brother’s name echoed in her mind, a mantra that matched the rhythm of her strikes.

Jonathan. Jonathan. Jonathan.

The Hammer fought back, his movements powerful but predictable. She had studied him, learned his tells, and with each dodge and weave, she unraveled him piece by piece. The crowd’s roar faded to a distant hum, her world narrowing to the space between strike and counterstrike, where only strength and spirit mattered.

It was over in minutes. The Hammer lay unconscious at her feet, and as her hand was lifted in victory, the crowd erupted, chanting her name.

But inside, there was no joy in her triumph, only a hollow ache for the vengeance still out of her reach. Jonathan’s face lingered in her mind, a specter of loss and love that no victory could ever erase.

Each year, the anniversary of his death wrapped itself around her heart like a cold hand, its grip tightening with every moment. The weight of unshed tears and unspoken words had built an invisible barrier around her, a fortress of sorrow and rage she navigated every day.

Remembering his laugh, the way he’d tousle her hair—those memories cut like double-edged swords, offering both comfort and a searing reminder of all she had lost. And the only way she knew how to silence the voices threatening to consume her was to drown them out with the roar of a crowd cheering her name.

Not Minke. No. Her true name—Poison.

Poison. Poison. Poison.

She had earned the nickname the first time she stepped into a street fighting ring, beneath the blaring lights and the crowd’s deafening chants. She wasn’t supposed to win. All the odds were against her. Barely seventeen, facing a veteran fighter whose muscles were honed by years of skill and victory.

Yet there she was—the underdog, ready to defy every prediction. And she did. She struck without hesitation, each move calculated and precise. He never saw it coming—her attack, silent and lethal, just like poison.

She freed her hand from the referee’s grip and climbed out of the ring. The crowd’s hands reached for her, but she didn’t notice. Nor did she register the glares from The Hammer’s crew. She needed every ounce of will to keep the voices from consuming her.

Gathering her belongings in a daze, she pushed her way through the locker room and back to the entrance of the Quarry, desperate for fresh air to ease the tightening grip on her thoughts.

Only once outside, in the quiet of the night, did she allow any trace of emotion to slip onto her face. With a heavy sigh, she walked to her bike, took the helmet off the handle, and stared at her reflection in the visor. The emerald eyes staring back at her forced her to look away. Guilt filled her lungs like lead, as she stared at the reflection that mirrored her brother’s green eyes, making it hard to breathe.

Fourteen years. Fourteen years since her brother had been brutally murdered for his territory. Jonathan had been one of the most powerful crew leaders in the state, maybe even beyond. He’d taught her everything she knew. And when he died, she, just eighteen, had stepped into his shoes and taken over his reign. She swore by his lifeless body that she would avenge him.

Over a decade later, she still hadn’t succeeded—but bit by bit, she was reclaiming his territory.

“It’s a start,” she whispered, as if Jonathan could hear her.

She silently promised him that retaliation would prevail as she straddled her motorcycle and slipped on her helmet. With a roar, the engine sprang to life, and she sped into the night.

Cold air rushed past, sweeping away the thoughts that threatened to crowd her mind. There was only her and the speed as she weaved through the flow of traffic.

When she finally stopped at her apartment, she jumped into the shower and made sure she looked presentable. She slipped into a figure-hugging black blouse and an even tighter black leather skirt that traced every curve of her hourglass figure. Lacing up her knee-high boots, she focused on her breathing, trying to keep her mind as empty as possible.

She had no desire to attend the work function, but her presence was mandatory. Three years of blood, sweat, and frustration had gone into leading this video game project, and tonight was the pre-launch. Her boss would fire her if she didn’t show, but she’d much rather be back at the Quarry, blowing off more steam.

Glancing at the clock on her way out, she decided she was already late enough to make another stop before heading to the venue.

A few minutes later, Poison pulled up in front of The Grave Bar. She needed liquid courage and the deafening music to drown out everything.

Drums and guitars reverberated through her bones as she stepped into the overcrowded club. Bodies, slick with sweat, moved to the rhythm of the music, and metal cages dangled from the ceiling, half-naked dancers swaying inside.

She weaved her way through the crammed dance floor, her mind just as chaotic. Slipping onto a barstool, she was greeted by a familiar face and a warm smile.

“Mi hermana, my sister,” Cat purred, pouring her a glass of vodka. “You look awful.”

Cat slid the glass in front of her and leaned over the bar, giving her a quick hug before pulling back.

“Don’t start, Cat,” Poison muttered, her lips brushing the brim of her tumbler. “Not tonight. I’m not in the mood.”

Taking a sip, she savored the warmth as the liquor burned down her throat.

“Oh, come now, mi hermana. Are you ever in any other mood?” Cat teased, and despite herself, Poison smiled—childlike mischief sparkled in Cat’s rich brown eyes.

Before she could respond, Cat danced away to serve other customers. Poison listened to the music, staring into the clear liquid, swirling it slowly, trying to keep her mind as blank as the glass in her hand.

A loud cheer from the table to her right snapped her attention, and she looked up to find a group of Normals ogling her. In a goth club, Normals weren’t uncommon. Humans had always been drawn to what they considered socially unacceptable.

She watched with bored curiosity as one of them—a rather attractive, farm boy-looking Normal—was shoved toward her by his friends. Their laughter and howls echoed like a pack of dogs as he shyly made his way over.

“Excuse me, miss,” he drawled, his southern accent rolling off his tongue.

He tried to lean his elbow on the bar, but it slipped, and he nearly hit his head. Another howl erupted from his friends, and he turned back, trying to quiet them.

“I apologize for my friends’ behavior,” he said, unfazed by his own stumble.

Despite the storm inside her, she smiled. The countryman was oddly charming.

“What’s the wager?” she asked, knocking back her drink.

“Pardon, miss?” Guilt flashed across his face, and she couldn’t help but stare at the innocence. She found it fascinating.

She hopped off her seat, her head barely reaching his chin as she gazed up at him through thick lashes.

“I asked, what’s the wager? What did they bet on, and how much?”

His cheeks flushed deep red. “Oh, no, it’s nothing like that.”

She leaned to the side, peering around his broad chest at his friends, who were elbowing each other and tossing bills onto the table. The Normal followed her gaze and shook his head.

“Want to try that again?” she asked, turning back to him.

“They bet I’d crash and burn,” he admitted, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, dimples showing. “Said you’d never be interested.”

Leaning back, she gave him a slow once-over. He was conventionally handsome, with that boy-next-door charm— and she was in the mood for a distraction.

“Poison,” she said, offering her hand.

He took it, bending down to brush his lips over her knuckles. If he noticed the bruises already forming from her fight, he didn’t mention them.

“Ethan,” he replied, straightening.

“What do you get if you don’t crash and burn?” she purred, trailing a finger down his chest.

His spine stiffened, his breath deepening as recognition flickered in his eyes.

“The fact that you’re still talking to me is two

hundred already,” he said, his confidence growing with each word.

She leaned in, her hand slipping to the nape of his neck. Pulling him close, she whispered in his ear.

“And if I take you to a restroom stall and let you fuck me?”

She welcomed the distraction he offered, the one she needed to drown out the voices clawing at her mind, to push away the ghosts of her past.

“They’d be so broke, they’d have to hitchhike home,” he grinned, flashing those dimples again.

Grabbing his hand, she towed him toward the restroom. As she passed the bar, she caught Cat’s eye and winked. In return, Cat eyed the man she was dragging along and blew her a kiss, a wide grin spreading across her face.

Poison peeled her face from the wall and straightened her skintight black skirt. Her gaze drifted over the vulgar graffiti scrawled across the stall, and wondered how many faces had been shoved against it in this same confined space. A toilet flushed near the front of the restroom, the stale stench of piss clinging to the air as she turned to what’s-his-face behind her.

“That was… fun, I guess,” she said, rolling her eyes and patting him on the chest.

She reached past his hips to unlatch the stall door, not bothering with the fact that he still stood there, pants bunched around his ankles, the condom gleaming under the red lights.

Unhooking her small backpack from the door, she slung it over her shoulders and walked out.

“Should I...” he stuttered, fumbling to pull up his pants with trembling fingers. “Should I call you sometime?”

She paused, tilting her head as she studied him. “Oh, sweetie,” she purred. A smile tugged at her lips as the Normal, who had just fucked her, rubbed the back of his neck, his gaze dropping to her knee-high boots. She suppressed a laugh, certain she’d just fulfilled one of his bucket-list fantasies. “I don’t even remember your name anymore.”

With that, she walked out of the men’s restroom without a backward glance. She’d hoped the Normal would be enough to distract her, fuck her senseless, but it didn’t work. Her mind still screamed.

Waving to Cat behind the bar, she headed for the door, ignoring the loud applause from the Normal’s friends as they approached.

Outside, she could finally breathe. The fresh night air filled her lungs, and she held it there for a moment, trying to still the chaos in her head.

She couldn’t put off the pre-launch anymore. With a sigh, she mounted her bike and sped toward the venue.