ELEVEN
T he morning sun crept through the curtains, its gentle rays waking Poison from her sleep. She blinked groggily, momentarily disoriented, before the events of the previous night flooded back to her.
“Shit, shit, shit,” she swore as she grabbed her phone, staring at the time: Saturday, ten o’clock.
She had forgotten to set her alarm, which was a stupid oversight, seeing as today was the official launch, and she had a million things to do.
Heart racing, she bolted from her bed and raced to the bathroom, her steps echoing in the empty apartment.
With nimble fingers, she turned on the faucet, the rush of water echoing in the tiled room.
In a frenzy, she got undressed and stepped into the shower, the hot water cascading over her skin in a comforting embrace. She lathered her body with soap, the scent of lavender filling the air as she washed away the remnants of last night.
Getting out of the shower, she toweled off quickly, water droplets clinging to her fair skin like diamonds in the morning light.
After getting dressed, she strode to the sink and reached for her makeup bag. With practiced precision, she applied her makeup, smoothing it over her skin to conceal any signs of fatigue or stress or injury. Carefully, she dabbed concealer over the cut on her lip, layering it thickly to hide the evidence of the previous night’s fight.
For a moment, she tried to count how many times she had done so in the past fifteen years but quickly gave up. There were too many to count. Too many black eyes, too many broken noses, and too many cuts on her face.
With one last glance, she straightened her shoulders and headed out the door.
She had made it to the launch venue just in time. The warehouse droned with activity as technicians scurried about, finishing up the setup. Strobes of neon light flickered overhead, casting eerie shadows against the cold concrete walls.
As she stepped into the bustling warehouse, she immediately took charge, her eyes scanning the room for any signs of something out of place. With swift, purposeful movements, she moved from station to station, checking that each computer terminal was up and running, the software loaded and functioning flawlessly.
She paused occasionally to confer with the technicians as they put the finishing touches on their setups. And Melissa stayed well clear of her path.
She watched the stage, where the audiovisual equipment was being tested and calibrated. She listened intently as the technicians fine-tuned the system, ensuring that every beat and every note would resonate throughout the warehouse with crystal clarity.
As the minutes ticked by, her pace quickened, her movements becoming more frenetic as she checked and double-checked every detail. She adjusted the lighting, making subtle tweaks to create the perfect ambiance for the event. She inspected the seating arrangements, ensuring every guest had a clear view of the stage.
With a satisfied nod, she surveyed her handiwork, a sense of pride swelling within her. Everything was in place, every detail meticulously attended to. Now, all that remained was to wait for the guests to arrive and witness the culmination of her hard work and dedication.
As she stepped outside for a smoke, she felt a surge
of excitement coursing through her veins. Last night was forgotten and tonight was more than just a product launch; it was her way of forever capturing her brother’s memory.
At seven that evening, she navigated through the crowd, her gaze sweeping over the rows of computer terminals that lined the room. Each station was a hive of activity, with gamers eagerly testing out Shadow Strike , their faces illuminated by the glow of the screens.
In search of her boss, she made her way up the stairs to the VIP lounge. There, she found him talking to the same group of investors as the pre-launch with a drink in hand. Security guarded the perimeter of the loft, and she scanned each of their faces in search of Scorpion.
He said he’d be working tonight, but she hadn’t seen him among the crowds yet. A bit disappointed, she walked over to her boss.
“Sorry to bother you, sir,” she nodded to his company. “But it is time for your announcement.”
“Oh. Yesh. Rright. Chertainly,” Topaz stammered, his tongue dragging.
The fucker was already drunk. Rage coursed through her. It was the biggest night of his miserable career, and the fucker was drunk. He was in the company of people who invested millions into this product, and he
was about to fuck it all up. She wouldn’t allow that to happen to her brother’s memory.
Inhaling a deep breath, she swallowed the venom in her throat before addressing him.
“No worries, sir. Continue your conversation with our generous investors,” She tried to give them a pleasant smile. “I’ll handle the announcement.”
To her utter horror, Topaz saluted her, spilling half his drink over his face. “Yesh, ma’am,” he mumbled, laughing.
Turning on her heel before she did something she would regret, she walked to the stairs. She stepped aside at the landing, allowing a party to pass her onto the platform.
A bodyguard, followed by a man in a very expensive-looking suit stopped and turned to her. The same man who had questioned her competency at the pre-launch and she bit back a sneer.
“Damian, wait,” he said to the guard and turned to her. “Miss Sloan, a pleasure.” The almond-eye man bent low at the waist, greeting her.
But no words came. Her throat tightened as she simply stared at the two men flanking the well-dressed stranger. Scorpion and Gunnar. Well, fuck.
Recognition struck her with the force of a brutal punch, knocking the air from her lungs. Scorpion wasn’t just a security guard. He was a personal bodyguard for someone important—someone wealthy, powerful, and currently bowing to her like she was the one in control.
Her mind reeled, trying to make sense of the situation. She shook her head slightly, hoping to clear the haze that had settled over her thoughts, but it was no use. The pieces were falling into place too quickly, and she couldn’t keep up.
“Enjoy your evening, sir,” she mumbled, her voice barely above a whisper, the words tasting strange in her mouth. She needed to get out of there, to escape the tension curling in her gut. Without meeting Scorpion’s eyes, she attempted to push past him and Gunnar, her movements hurried and clumsy.
But the questions swirled in her mind, refusing to be ignored. Why hadn’t he told her? The realization gnawed at her, a raw edge of betrayal she hadn’t anticipated. Was this man, the one who had just bowed to her, the boss Scorpion had mentioned in passing? The one he had spoken about with a tone she now realized was laced with more than just professionalism?
She couldn’t shake the feeling that something significant had just shifted between them, something she wasn’t ready to confront. The ease, the trust they’d shared—it all felt tainted now, muddied by secrets she hadn’t known existed. Why had he kept this from her? What else was he hiding? The questions spiraled, each one more unsettling than the last, leaving her with an ache she couldn’t quite name.
When she glanced back at the older man, she noticed the subtle grace in his movements, the slight stoop of his shoulders hinting at a lifetime of wisdom and experience. His face bore the gentle lines of a well-lived life, each crease telling a story. His eyes, dark and penetrating, held a quiet strength and wisdom that spoke volumes without uttering a word. And as he moved through the crowd of VIPs with calm dignity, an air of authority and respect seemed to follow in his wake, commanding attention.
She tried to focus on the announcement, forcing herself to push Scorpion from her mind as she prepared to address the crowd. But it was impossible. Before she could gather her thoughts, he was there, his grip firm as he pulled her close. The warmth of his body against hers, the intensity in his gaze, made it impossible to ignore him.
“Good evening, Little Viper,” he murmured, his voice smooth, but she didn’t miss the edge in it. When she finally turned to face him, the playful glint in his eyes had darkened, replaced by something far more dangerous—an anger that simmered just beneath the surface, ready to explode.
“Who did this to you?” he demanded, his tone low and laced with something that sent a shiver down her spine. His fingers tilted her chin upward, his thumb hovering just above the cut on her lip, as if he was torn between tenderness and fury.
“It was just a fight,” she whispered, feeling the tension drain from her body at the protectiveness in his stare. The raw concern in his eyes made it hard to hold on to her own anger, even as memories of the night before flooded her mind, threatening to overwhelm her.
“Who was it?” he hissed, his voice sharp enough to cut glass, but she smiled softly, placing her hand over his wrist, gently lowering his hand from her face.
“A nomad,” she replied, her voice steady, though a part of her wanted to reassure him even more. “And like I said, it was just a fight. You should see what he looked like once I was done with him. He was carried out of the ring.” Her eyes flicked to the side, her mind briefly flashing to the moment when she heard he’d died in the hospital. She could have said more, but she didn’t. It wasn’t necessary.
“Good,” Scorpion growled, his eyes narrowing as he glanced back at his boss, who was deep in conversation with Topaz. There was something lethal in his gaze, a promise of what he was capable of if anyone dared to hurt her again.
“Go,” she urged him with a smile, her voice softer now. “I have some things to do anyway.”
He squeezed her hand, his grip lingering just a moment longer than necessary. “I’ll catch up with you afterward,” he promised, his voice a rough whisper as he finally let her go and turned his attention back to his boss.
As he walked away, she watched him for a moment longer, her heart pounding in a way that had nothing to do with fear. There was something about the way he cared for her, the way he wanted to protect her, that made her feel something she hadn’t allowed herself to feel in a long time. It was unsettling, but in a way that made her want to explore it further, even as she told herself she needed to focus; that he has secrets she wasn’t part of, but she had to let it go. There were other things to do, other battles to fight, but the thought of him would linger, no matter how hard she tried to push it aside.
She made her way to the center of the room, where the stage had been erected, bathed in a wash of crimson light. A podium stood at its center, flanked by towering speakers that pulsed with the throb of bass. Music filled the air, a symphony of electronic beats that seemed to echo in her bones—along with the heat that Scorpion’s reaction caused.
As she surveyed the scene before her, a sense of pride swelled within her chest again. This was her creation—her vision brought to life. Despite the chaos and uncertainty that had plagued her in recent days, she had persisted. What started as a sarcastic comment had become a project of passion.
With a determined set to her jaw, she stepped onto the stage. The crowd’s eyes turned to her as she approached the podium. She stepped forward, the soft glow of the stage lights casting shadows across her face. Taking a deep breath, she tried to center herself before addressing the room. Her eyes caught Scorpion leaning on the railing of the loft, looking down at her.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” she began, her voice carrying over the babbling of the crowd. “Welcome to the launch of our latest creation. Tonight, we unveil a game unlike any other, a testament to the passion and dedication of everyone in this room.” Her voice, low and husky, carried a quiet intensity that demanded attention.
“Welcome, everyone, to the launch of Shadow Strike,” she announced, her gaze sweeping across the crowd as they erupted into cheer.
“A game that delves deep into the dark underbelly of the street fighting world.” She paused, allowing her words to sink in before continuing.
“Each character in Shadow Strike has a story—a reason why they’ve chosen to step into the dangerous world of underground fighting. From seeking revenge to climbing the ranks of the criminal underworld, every decision you make will shape the outcome of your character’s journey.”
Her eyes glittered with excitement as she spoke, her passion for the game in every word.
“With customizable characters and dynamic backstories, Shadow Strike offers players the chance to immerse themselves in a world of danger, intrigue, and betrayal. Will you align yourself with the Mafia, the Bratva, or the Japanese? The choice is yours.”
She paused, letting the weight of her words hang in the air.
“And perhaps most intriguing of all, Shadow Strike uses AI to learn the player’s motives, adapting the story in real-time to reflect their choices and actions. It’s a game that’s as unpredictable as it is thrilling—a game where every decision has consequences. So, without any further ado, gamers? Are you ready?”
A loud cheer boomed from behind the computer screens.
“Let the gaming begin!”
As she finished her speech, the crowd erupted into applause, the excitement tangible in the air.
Every line of code, every moment immersed in the intricacies of the game, was a tribute to Jonathan’s memory. She had programmed the NPC, guiding each player in the underworld to his likeness. With each keystroke, she breathed life into the NPC, infusing it with Jonathan’s essence—the rugged exterior, the fierce determination, the unyielding spirit. Shadow wasn’t just a character; he was a reflection of Jonathan’s essence, a manifestation of his resilience in the unforgiving streets.
As she walked off the stage, her emotions hit her like a brick wall—all of them at once—and she fought back tears.
The crowd closed in around her like a circle of hungry predators, their eager faces looming over her like shadows in the night. Each outstretched hand felt like a gauntlet thrown down before her, demanding her attention and acknowledgment.
Caught in the onslaught, she felt as though she were trapped in the ring, surrounded by opponents closing in from all sides. The air crackled with the electric excitement, each heartbeat echoing like the pounding rhythm of fists against flesh.
Her chest tightened with each breath, the weight of their expectations pressing down like an opponent’s knee on her chest, threatening to crush her beneath its weight. Panic clawed at her throat, its grip tightening with every passing moment until she stood frozen, a statue carved from fear and uncertainty.
When it felt like the walls were closing in, when the noise and pressure of everything threatened to crush her, a familiar presence cut through the chaos like a beacon. Scorpion appeared, his strong figure slicing through the throng of people with ease, his eyes locked on her with unwavering focus. Without a word, his arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her close, anchoring her in the midst of the storm.
“I’ve got you, Little Viper,” he whispered, his voice low and reassuring, the words a promise only for her ears.
In that moment, the suffocating tension that had gripped her chest loosened just enough for her to take a stammering breath. His touch was like a balm to her frayed nerves, bringing with it a sense of calm she hadn’t realized she was craving. It was as if the world around them faded, the relentless pressure of the night receding just enough for her to catch her breath.
With Scorpion by her side, they moved through the crowd.
As they finally stepped out into the cool night air, the noise and chaos of the arena fell away behind them. The chill of the evening kissed her skin, and she felt the tension begin to drain from her body, like a tightly wound spring slowly, ever so slowly, uncoiling leaving exhaustion in its wake.