FIVE
T wenty minutes later, Poison shoved open the heavy doors to The Grave Bar, a smirk tugging at her lips as she stepped into the dim, sultry glow. The place was nearly empty, its red-tinted lights casting long, ghostly shadows over the worn wooden floor. Perfect. She liked it like this—quiet, raw, stripped of the crowds and the noise. Just the bones of the bar and a few souls lost enough to haunt it in daylight.
Her boots echoed in the empty space as she made her way to the counter, her eyes scanning the bar’s rough, familiar details. At night, The Grave was a chaotic mess of bodies and noise, but in the early hours, it was almost intimate. Sacred. Her kind of place.
The bartender, Marty, gave her a nod as she approached. Rugged and silent as ever, with a beard thick enough to hide secrets and tattoos that crawled up his arms like they had a story to tell. The air smelled of stale whiskey, cheap cigarettes, and something heavier, something almost bitter. Like the memories soaked into the walls over the years.
“Four beers, please, Marty,” she murmured, sliding her fingers along the counter, feeling its rough texture beneath her skin. She’d lost count of how many times she’d ordered here, how many nights she’d stared into the haze of a drink, letting the world around her fade.
Marty slid the bottles over, no questions, no small talk—just how she liked it. “Add it to my tab,” she said, gripping the cold glass necks.
He gave another nod, his eyes as unreadable as always. She turned, her fingers wrapped around the bottles, but the sight that greeted her stopped her cold.
Scorpion, Dennis, and Gunnar stood at attention, scanning the room like predators who’d just walked into unfamiliar territory. A muscle ticked in her jaw as she took them in. They looked every bit the part—eyes narrowed, shoulders tense, gazes sweeping over the room like they were waiting for something, someone.
“No security guards,” Dennis muttered into Scorpion’s ear, his voice low, assessing.
“Seven cameras,” Gunnar added, eyes sharp as they scanned the room.
Poison smirked, leaning in with a glint of sarcasm. “And only two exits. Three if you’re daring enough to use the roof.” She glanced between them, noting their mirrored expressions—eyebrows raised, lips a thin, serious line. A laugh bubbled up, and she let it spill out, shaking her head. They looked like they’d been cut from the same mold: all edge and vigilance, scanning shadows for ghosts that weren’t there.
“Lighten up, will you?” She raised her bottle, the glass cold against her fingers as she tipped it in a mock toast. “You’ll get septicemia from the sticks shoved up your asses.”
“Nothing wrong with being vigilant,” Gunnar shot back, his tone a bit too defensive, like he couldn’t quite handle her mockery. She met his glare with a sly grin and a shrug, taking a long sip.
“Oh, please.” She rolled her eyes, glancing toward the bar, where Marty polished a glass, looking as unbothered as a man could be. “If anyone even thinks about causing a scene here, they’ll be dealing with Marty and his twelve-gauge.”
Without waiting for a reply, she sauntered over to the pool table. The dim lighting, the faint scratch of an old rock song playing in the background—it was her kind of place, the kind of place where trouble felt like an invitation rather than a threat.
She pulled a cue from the rack, rubbing chalk over
the tip with slow, deliberate strokes, feeling the guys’ eyes on her. Looking back, she tilted her head, a challenge in her gaze. “So, what’s it going to be? Teams or challengers?”
“I’ll take you on.” Gunnar stepped forward, his tone thick with that cocky arrogance she’d seen too many times in the ring. It was the kind of confidence that wanted to test her, to see if she’d break or bend. Her fingers tightened around the cue, and a spark of something dark, something defiant, ignited in her chest.
“Bring it, then,” she said, her voice soft, but the edge unmistakable. She let her smirk linger, knowing it would only irritate him more.
A few short minutes later, Poison leaned over the pool table, carefully lining up her shot on the black and white balls. She felt the weight of Scorpion’s gaze, and his laughter broke the quiet tension.
“She’s got you by the balls, Gun,” he snickered, voice laced with that rough edge she was starting to crave. “Pun intended.”
Poison couldn’t stop the smile tugging at her lips. With steady hands, she lined up her shot, drew the cue back, and—
“So, how long have you two been dating?” Dennis’s voice cut through her focus, throwing her aim just enough to make her miss the shot.
She snapped her gaze to him, eyebrows raised in disbelief. “We’re not dating,” she said, feeling the need to clear it up a bit too quickly. Did Scorpion tell them differently? She risked a sidelong glance his way, but his face was maddeningly unreadable, offering her nothing but that frustrating calm.
“We only met last night,” she added, trying to explain, but Gunnar’s smirk told her she’d only made herself sound more defensive. She shook it off and decided to turn the tables. “So, you two are fighters as well?” she asked, rubbing chalk over her cue, letting the familiar action steady her nerves.
“I am,” Gunnar replied, flashing her a cocky grin. “Lil’ Den here, though—he’s got a more... supportive role.” His words confirmed her earlier suspicions about their dynamic.
Dennis laughed, gesturing toward his face. “Honestly? Just trying to keep the moneymaker intact.” Perched on a bar stool with his legs dangling, he looked more like a giant kid than a brawler, and she had to stifle a grin.
Scorpion’s eyes remained trained on her, intense, unreadable. Gunnar’s words floated through the air, seemingly innocent but carrying an edge. “Scor tells us you fight as well. We haven’t seen you around the Temple before.”
She caught the flash in Scorpion’s eyes, the warning he gave Gunnar. They’d let something slip. The Temple was Japanese territory, and she wasn’t supposed to know they were affiliated. It felt like a test—a subtle misstep meant to see how much she could pick up. She kept her expression cool, her tone flat, giving nothing away.
“I frequent a different ring,” she said, keeping her answer casual, a thread of indifference woven into her words. She knew better than to show too much knowledge too soon. In their world, ignorance was an asset—a currency that could buy her time, maybe even her life.
Gunnar missed his shot, glancing up at her with that skeptical look she was itching to knock off his face. “Your name sounds familiar, though.”
“The Underground’s a small community,” she shrugged, sinking the black ball with ease. “Word gets around. But for now, I believe that’s game over.”
She held Gunnar’s gaze for an extra beat, her expression smooth, and a smirk pulling at her lips.
Lighting a smoke, she savored the look on Gunnar’s usually smug face when he realized she had won the game. Yeah, they will never get along, she decided.
Gunnar slapped his cue onto the table with a little too much force, the wood echoing in the quiet. Dennis muffled a chuckle behind his hand. “Sore loser,” he murmured, eyes dancing with amusement as he shot Gunnar a look. And he reminded Poison of an oversized toddler.
Gunnar scowled, yanked his phone from his pocket, and retreated to a darkened corner, his attention fixed on the screen—or at least pretending to be.
Poison took a drag of her cigarette, savoring the bite of smoke before setting it in the ashtray. She grabbed the abandoned cue and handed it to Scorpion, who put his own cigarette out and hopped off the barstool to meet her. He took the cue from her, fingers brushing over hers, sending a pulse of heat through her hand. Her breath hitched, but she kept her cool, offering him a faint, playful smile.
“Winner breaks,” he said, his voice laced with a challenge as his lips curved. His gaze held hers for a heartbeat, dark and intense.
The contact left a spark buzzing in her fingers, an almost magnetic pull she couldn’t shake. She turned, forcing herself to focus as she crouched by the table, collecting the billiard balls to rack them. She was so intent on the cool weight of the spheres in her hands, the familiar rhythm of setting up, that she barely noticed when Scorpion shrugged off his jacket on the other side of the table.
A flicker of movement caught her eye, and she glanced up, heart skipping. His forearms—exposed now as he rolled up his sleeves—were a sight she didn’t mind getting lost in. Veins traced over muscle, tattoo ink winding like secret paths, and her mouth went dry as she watched. His strength was the quiet kind, restrained, like a beast held just beneath the surface, and her gaze lingered longer than she intended.
Suddenly, she felt a presence beside her. Startled, she looked to see Gunnar crouched at her side, his eyes narrowed, his face inches from hers, a smirk tugging at his lips. She hadn’t heard him approach, hadn’t felt him move in close. Her pulse kicked up a notch, but she held his gaze steady, refusing to be the one to back down first.
“You’re drooling,” Gunnar whispered, his breath hot against her ear. A chill slithered down her spine, leaving a trail of unease that made her stomach twist.
“Fuck off,” she hissed, voice dripping with disdain as she tried to shake the unsettling feeling of his presence. “Go be a creep somewhere else.”
Gunnar’s lips curled into a taunting smirk. “I’m not the one eye-fucking someone in public.” His gaze held a twisted satisfaction before he straightened, strolling over to an oblivious Scorpion like he hadn’t just rattled her to the core.
“We need to leave,” Gunnar said, jerking his head toward Dennis.
Scorpion’s eyes flicked to her, his expression softening almost imperceptibly. “I’ll just make sure Poison gets home safely, then I’ll catch up with you guys.”
At the sound of her name, she straightened, fingers tightening around the cue. She instantly wondered what was going on as the hairs on her arms stood on end, and her mind raced to piece together their cryptic exchange.
“No.” Gunnar’s tone was a sharp cut, final. “Boss just wants us. You have your assignment.” His words hung in the air, heavy, laced with something she couldn’t quite grasp.
“You sure?” For a split second, she saw a flicker of doubt in Scorpion’s eyes—a rare thing, and somehow, it unsettled her more than Gunnar’s presence.
“Yeah. We’ll report tonight…” Gunnar’s gaze slid to her, then he lowered his voice, murmuring, “At our spot.”
She forced her attention back to the table, fingers moving mechanically as she pretended to arrange the billiards. Feign ignorance, she told herself, repeating it like a mantra, grounding herself in the rhythm of her actions. But her mind remained sharp, alert, watching them from the corner of her eye, every nerve on edge.
Something was happening, something she wasn’t supposed to know.
“Just finish your job and get it over with,” Gunnar muttered, his tone a harsh, biting whisper, his gaze cold.
The sharpness in his voice scraped against her nerves, but she forced herself to remain calm, her expression casual as she focused on the task in front of her. Whatever was going on, she couldn’t let him see even a flicker of unease.
As Scorpion and Gunnar continued talking in low tones, her mind churned, trying to unravel the implications. What assignment? she wondered, piecing together their cryptic words, the strange tension that lingered in the air like a warning.
“Well,” Gunnar said louder, snapping her attention back. She met his gaze with a sweet, disarming smile, hoping it masked the curiosity simmering beneath. “We’ll leave you two alone. Come on, Den, Boss needs us.”
Dennis patted Scorpion’s shoulder in silent farewell, and with a nod, they slipped out, leaving her alone with Scorpion. The bar felt quieter, a comfortable silence settling between them as the tension in her shoulders eased slightly.
“You don’t have to join them?” she asked, feigning innocence, her tone light, as if she hadn’t caught a single detail of their exchange.
“Luckily, no.” He smiled, his gaze lingering on her. “You get to hang with me for a bit longer.”
She couldn’t stop the smirk that tugged at her lips. “Cocky, much?” she teased, reaching for her cigarette and taking a long drag, letting the smoke ease her nerves.
“Not nearly as cocky as you, kicking Gun’s ass.” He laughed, the sound low and warm, curling through her like a slow burn.
“Something tells me he doesn’t lose often,” she replied, leaning back slightly as she gauged his reaction. “Didn’t seem like he took it too well.”
A gut feeling tugged at her, whispering that Gunnar wasn’t to be trusted. She’d learned long ago to listen to those instincts—they rarely steered her wrong. Something about him set her on edge, a dodgy quality she couldn’t quite pin down. But one way or another, she intended to figure him out.
“No,” Scorpion laughed, the sound rich and genuine.
“He’s definitely not. Hell, he can even give me a run for my territory.”
“Would he?” The question slipped out before she could stop it, her curiosity getting the better of her.
“Challenge me for my territory?” A flicker of disbelief crossed his face, shadowed by a hint of hurt that twisted something inside her.
She swallowed, unsure how to respond, so she only nodded, grounding herself by stubbing out her cigarette in the ashtray, wishing the questions would stop bubbling up.
“Never,” he said, his voice soft but resolute. His eyes held her gaze, conviction radiating from him. “He’s one of my oldest friends, and he’s loyal to the bone. We’d take a bullet for each other without question.”
“We all need someone who’s got our back like that,” she murmured, managing a smile. There was something honest in his words, something that made her feel almost guilty for not trusting his friend, even if that nagging feeling lingered.
The tension between them eased a bit, and he nodded, his expression lightening. So she decided to let the matter rest for now.
Despite his reserved and contemplative behavior, Scorpion occasionally broke into episodes of frenetic energy and silliness, with abundant flirting in between. Yet, Poison could see layers beneath his calm exterior—shadows of a rough past and storms survived in silence. The things he had seen, the things he had done, were etched into his soul and flickered like distant storms in the unfathomable depths of his eyes, always questioning, always surveilling.
Each glance into those eyes, every thought of them, stirred an echo within her—a whisper of recognition, a fragment of bitter-to-the-touch memory, elusive and intangible. It was as if those eyes, so full of questions and shadows, had crossed her path in another life, leaving traces she could not figure out, a familiarity that haunted the edges of her memories.
They played another few rounds of pool before his phone buzzed, and he had to leave.
Lost in thought, she walked with him to their bikes, the churn of mixed emotions knotting in her stomach.
“What do you say?” he looked at her as if waiting for an answer she didn’t know the question of.
“Sorry,” she shook her head. “What was the question?”
“What’s on your mind?” he stopped and searched her face. His eyes bore into hers, and she struggled not to look away, her thoughts a jumbled mess.
“Have we met before?” she blurted out.
“Little Viper,” he coaxed, and despite herself, her toes curled at the nickname. “I think we both would have remembered if our paths had crossed before.” Reaching out, he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear—his touch soft and his smile mischievous and warm.
A heat rushed to her face that didn’t go unnoticed by him. The back of his knuckles lightly stroked over her cheek. And she caught herself wanting to lean into his touch and stepped away.
“Your question?” she asked, trying to shake the oh-so-filthy thoughts from her mind.
Fuck, this man was dangerously close to breaking down every barrier she had so carefully built around herself her whole life.
He smiled and stuck his hands into his pockets as if physically needing to restrain himself from touching her. The gesture, subtle yet telling, sent a wave of conflicting emotions through her.
“I wanted to know if I could drive you home before I head back to work,” he repeated, his voice carrying a hint of hope.
“I’m alright,” she smiled, masking her inner turmoil with practiced ease. “I want to check up on a friend, so you can go ahead.”
“You sure?” he asked, and fuck, the look in his eyes made her believe he was disappointed. His eyes softened, and for a moment, she almost reconsidered.
But when she nodded, the disappointment flickered across his face like a shadow before he masked it with a grin. He got onto his bike and drove off, the roar of the engine echoing in the lot.
She waited, watching until his taillights disappeared around the corner.
Poison entered the lobby of her apartment building around three in the afternoon, her footsteps echoing in the mostly empty space. To her dismay, she bumped into her sleaze ball of a landlord.
“Just the missy I was looking for,” he drawled, a toothpick dangling from the corner of his mouth. His grin made her skin crawl.
“Vince,” she greeted curtly, trying to head for the stairs instead of waiting for the elevator. She didn’t have the patience for his slimy presence today.
“Well, just hold on there for a moment, Missy.” His voice grated on her nerves, and she halted, waiting for him to waddle over to her.
“What can I do for you?” she asked, forcing her tone to remain civil.
“You’re earlier than usual,” he noted, his rat-eyes scanning her from head to toe, lingering a bit too long.
“Keeping track of me?” she challenged, crossing her arms. “That’s called stalking, and I believe a valid cause for a restraining order.”
“No, no, no. Just haven’t seen you around here so early. You’re usually still playing your little video games.” His dismissive tone made her bristle.
“Again, stalking.” She could see the red tinge staining his neck at her bluntness, a small victory.
“That death trap of yours,” he pointed to the helmet dangling from her fingers, clearly changing the subject. “Tenants be complaining. You come and go at all hours of the night, and it’s making a loud racket.”
“According to my lease agreement, there’s nothing that prohibits me from…” She made air quotes with her one hand. “Coming and going at all hours.”
His only response was to gawk like a fish, his mouth opening and closing uselessly. She took the cue to leave, pushing past him toward the stairs.
As she climbed the steps, she couldn’t shake the feeling of his eyes on her back, a lingering discomfort that clung to her like a shadow. “Creep,” she muttered under her breath, quickening her pace.
She ran up the steps, taking two at a time, until she reached her apartment on the third floor. The voices in her mind got louder as a million questions tried to find answers at the same time.
For a moment, she just leaned against the inside of her shut door, taking deep breaths with her eyes closed. The past twenty-four hours were a lot to unpack. Opening her eyes, they came to focus on her drafting table. She walked over to it, sat down, and pulled a sketch pad from the trolley to her right.
Some people saw a therapist, others kept a journal, but she preferred pouring her emotions onto a white page through a coal pencil when she couldn’t unleash it through her fists. Placing her headset over her ears, the blaring of drums and guitars swept her away, and she started to sketch.
An hour later, she stared into the black pits of Scorpion’s eyes perfectly captured on the page. A familiarity tugged at a far corner of her mind, but try as she might, it was to no avail. She had no idea why they seemed so familiar, maybe in a previous life. She laughed at herself.
Her phone’s screen lit up, driving the idiotic thoughts from her mind. Removing her headphones, she stared at the unknown caller ID. Her brow furrowed as she hit the answer button. “Speak,” she drawled, not allowing her pencil to leave the paper.
“Poison?” Her spine stiffened at the sound of Scorpion’s voice crackling through the line. She hadn’t expected to hear from him this soon, hadn’t quite prepared herself for the low timbre of his voice reaching into her space.
“Wow, that was fast,” she replied, masking her surprise with a lazy drawl of sarcasm, letting him think she was unfazed.
“What was?” Confusion edged his tone, and she felt a flicker of amusement.
“Usually, men follow the two-day rule before calling a woman. That is if they called,” she teased, a smirk tugging at her lips, keeping her tone light despite the thrum of anticipation building under her skin.
“You mispronounced boys , Little Viper. Men know what they want, and what I want is you…” His voice held a quiet authority that slid under her defenses, settling in her chest with an unexpected weight. “I want you to join me tonight.”
A swarm of sensations crashed over her, her pulse hitching. He didn’t ask. He stated it. Like she’d already agreed. Careful , she thought, steadying her voice even as something inside her thrilled at his confidence. “And what did you have in mind?”
“I’ll pick you up at nine.”
She almost laughed at his certainty. “And if I say no?” But she had a feeling he wasn’t accustomed to hearing no. A part of her didn’t want him to be.
“You want me to stalk your address instead of just telling me?” His voice was edged with a dangerous amusement, and she sensed he would, that he’d find her if he had to. The flutter in her stomach turned into something sharper, and she shifted in her seat.
She scoffed, attempting to regain control. “How would you even accomplish that? It’s not like you know my real name or anything useful for your little search,” she challenged, curiosity now stirring alongside the thrill.
“Well, Miss Minke Sloan…” Her entire body froze, every nerve on edge as her real name rolled off his tongue. “You’re forgetting I had a lovely little chat with your boss.”
Her grip on the pencil tightened, her heart thundering against her ribs. She felt a dark twist of admiration, even as unease prickled up her spine. “Well played, Mr. Thompson. Well played.” She forced her voice into a smooth, controlled tone, giving him nothing. “You can pick me up at the corner of Kohler and Mane.”
“It’s Phillip,” he corrected, his voice radiating that steady, infuriating confidence, “and I’ll see you at nine.” The line clicked dead.
She stared at the phone, her heart racing, the thrill of the unexpected unfurling through her veins. The tension—the pull between excitement and wariness—wrapped around her like a second skin, the wasps in her stomach buzzing with a need she didn’t want to analyze.
She set her phone down and leaned back in her chair, staring at the ceiling. Nine o’clock, then. She smiled to herself, excitement bubbling beneath the surface. Let’s
see what you’ve got, Phillip Thompson .
She sat for a moment, staring at the wall behind her desk with a grin. She had a date with the Scorpion. With Phillip. She wanted to kick herself for acting like a child, but she couldn’t remember the last time she felt anything for anyone. And for once, the voices seemed contemptuous of her feelings.
Phone in hand, Poison dialed a familiar number as she crossed to her closet, her mind already half-lost in the conversation she was about to have.
“Hey, P!” Nina’s voice rang through the line, bright and clear, as if it could slice through any darkness with a single word. “How have you been, Hun?”
A small smile pulled at Poison’s lips. Nina had that effect on her, like a grounding force. “Hi, Neen. Not bad, and you?” She lowered herself to the edge of the bed, her gaze drifting over the clothes in her wardrobe, though her mind remained on the call.
“Demi’s turning into a little whirlwind, and Nick’s practically living at the hospital, but we’re holding up.” There was a brightness in Nina’s voice, a genuine warmth that seeped through, even over the line. Poison could almost feel it, like sunlight breaking through a heavy sky.
Talking to Nina always left her feeling lighter, like a weight she didn’t realize she was carrying had lifted. Nina was the closest thing to a mother she’d ever known, despite only being five years older. Poison’s loyalty extended to Nina’s boyfriend, Nick, who had always treated her like family. And then there was Demi, Nina’s eight-year-old niece, whom Nina had legally adopted five years back. Demetra was every bit the little sister Poison had always wanted, with her long black pigtails framing the most innocent, heartwarming smile.
“I’m glad you guys are doing good. I’m sorry I haven’t checked in as much,” Poison said softly, guilt threading through her words. “Things have been… rough.”
“You want to catch up now?” Nina’s voice held a warmth that Poison clung to, like a steadying hand. “Demi’s on a playdate for the next two hours, so I’m all yours.”
Poison couldn’t help but smile. “I’ll meet you at Urban Rebel.” Just before hanging up, she murmured, “Thanks, Neen.”