TWENTY NINE
P oison 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.
“You will be able to enjoy the show of a lifetime.”
“Out of respect for your late brother, Shadow, I will grant you immunity. But only for tonight.”
“Why am I not surprised that you knew my brother?” Poison askes. She had a feeling this woman knew a lot of things about a lot of people.
“I make it my business to know things. My arena is yours for the night,” Kitiara replied and turned to one of her guards. “Set Miss Poison up in my personal dressing room and clear the evening’s roster.”
The guard dipped his chin and walked to Poison’s side, waiting for her to get up from her seat. Rising from her seat, she took the briefcase from the desk.
“Just need it as bait,” she explained before Kitiara could protest. “I’ll give it back at the end of the evening.” Following the guard to the door, she stopped in the middle of the room and turned to Kitiara.
“If I’m still breathing tomorrow, I’ll buy you a drink, Boss Lady,” she said to the woman on the other side of the desk.
“Good luck, Poison.”
And with that, she walked out of the room and down the stairs. As they re-entered the arena, the crowd’s electricity coursed through her body, and she was ready to face whatever was coming her way.
The guard led her further into the building, to a side wing, where he opened the door to a dressing room and disappeared again, she gave him a memory card.
“Tell the DJ to play this song when I give him the signal.”
She stepped inside the dressing room and shut out the noise of the crowd as she closed the door behind her. Rummaging through her duffle bag, she pulled off her shoes and leather jacket. She took her time wrapping her hands, and once she was done, she pulled a cloak from the bag.
She heard the announcer over the sound system and took it as her cue.
“Ladies, Gentlemen, and every other person,” the announcer called. “We are in for a treat tonight!”
The crowd answered with a roar of cheers and applause.
Poison walked down the hallway to where the arena loomed in the middle of the great room. At the entrance, she paused, centering herself. With a swift movement, she pulled the cloak over her shoulders, the fabric enveloping her like a shield against the world outside. Drawing the hood over her eyes, she shrouded her eyes in darkness, a silent vow to remain unseen until the right moment.
With a nod at the DJ, she signaled for her entrance song to begin.
As the lights dimmed, the arena plunged into darkness, save for the eerie glow of the black lights illuminating her cloak. Stepping into the aisle between the stands, gasps and murmurs rippled through the crowd as the glowing flames on her cloak seemed to dance with a life of their own, casting an otherworldly aura around her.
Smoke billowed from hidden machines, veiling her approach in a cover of mystery, heightening the tension in the air. Securing her cloak tightly around her, her heart quickened as the music erupted into a deafening chorus of drums and guitars.
With each step, the tempo of the music pulsed through her veins, driving her forward into the swirling mist. As the crowd fell into a hushed reverence, she emerged from the smoke, her flames blazing with an intensity that matched the fervor of her heartbeat. Every footfall echoed in her eardrums, a rhythmic cadence. With deliberate precision, she ascended the steps to the ring, each movement calculated for maximum impact.
As the beat dropped, and the words: ‘ I’m bad, as bad as can be, ’ reverberated through the arena, Poison stood at the center of the ring, bathed in flickering strobe lights. With a fluid motion, she allowed her hood to fall back, revealing her face to the electrified crowd—with venom in her eyes, her smirk deadly.
Her makeup was an expression of defiance, the black hues accentuated by streaks of poisonous green swirling across her lids like tendrils of smoke. Her hair, a veil of darkness, in a braided halo around her head, added
to the air of mystery that surrounded her.
As strobe lights stopped and bathed her in the glow of a spotlight, the crowd erupted into a frenzy, their cheers reverberating off the walls like thunder. Poison drank in their energy, allowing it to fuel the fire within her.
Adrenaline surged through her veins, sending her heart racing with a fierce intensity. Every hair on her body stood on end, the electric atmosphere crackling around her like static in the air. With measured steps, she prowled the perimeter of the ring, a predator basking in the adulation of her prey.
As a microphone descended from above, the spotlight grew to a blinding light, illuminating the whole arena and revealing the sea of faces surrounding her. The sheer magnitude of the crowd took her breath away, a vast ocean of humanity stretching out before her like an endless tide. Bringing the microphone to her lips, she raised her hand, silencing the clamor with a single gesture.
“Dwellers of the underworld,” she began, her voice cutting through the silence like a blade. “Welcome to the night you will never forget.”
With deliberate pacing, she circled the ring once more, each step a calculated maneuver to heighten the suspense.
“My name is Poison, and I am the leader of the Silver Serpents. You might have heard of us. Our ruthless reputation precedes us. I am the youngest crew leader this city has ever seen and the only leader not under the
control of any of the three crime families ruling this city. And I want to set a challenge,” she declared, her words hanging in the air like a promise: another pause, another beat of anticipation.
“Whoever can beat me tonight will receive a total of twenty thousand dollars.”
The crowd erupted in applause. The guard she handed the briefcase to in the hallway climbed into the ring and opened it to show the crowd its contents gleaming under the harsh lights of the arena. The sight sent the crowd into a frenzy.
“The rules are simple,” she announced, her voice cutting through the chaos with a steely edge. “It’s a knockout tournament. Fight until you’re knocked out, or tap out. No weapons, no foul play. Standard ring rules apply. Anyone caught breaking these rules will be handled accordingly.”
Her gaze swept over the sea of faces, locking onto those of the fighters in the crowd, but not seeing the dark irises she was looking for.
“You fight me,” she continued, her tone brooking no argument. “And the tournament ends when I’m knocked out.”
Her challenge was declared, daring anyone to step forward and face her in the ring.
A hush fell over the crowd as she surveyed them, her eyes narrowing as she searched for potential challengers.
“You can place your bets at the beginning of each match, and no one else may enter the ring. Am I making myself clear?”
The mass cheered in acceptance.
“Any takers?” she called out, her voice ringing clear and commanding.
She scanned the crowd again, but there was still no sight of Scorpion. Did Gunnar lie to her to lure her onto enemy turf? She couldn’t accept the thought. Not after he helped to save her territory. He’ll show , she said to herself.
The first volunteer stepped up to the ring.
“We’ve got ourselves a challenger,” she called into the microphone. “Let the fight begin!”
Pulling on the microphone, she sent it ascending into the darkened ceiling and pulled off her cloak, throwing it over the arm of the guard stepping out of the ring with the cash.
Her opponent vaulted over the ropes, tossing his red hoodie onto a corner post with a casual flick. He spat to the side, a mixture of nerves and bravado evident in the gesture, before raising his fists to chin height, a silent signal that he was ready to begin.
As she and her opponent circled each other, the tension in the air crackled, their movements mirroring those of predators sizing each other up before the kill. Then, in a heartbeat, the dance of combat began.
With a lightning-fast strike, her opponent aimed a punch straight at her face, his vision clouded by the promise of victory, dollar signs in his eyes. But her instincts were sharper than his ambition. She sidestepped his blow effortlessly, watching as he stumbled forward, off balance and vulnerable.
In that split second, Poison seized her opportunity. Her fists blurred with speed as she unleashed precise strikes, each one finding its mark with deadly accuracy. With every punch, she drove him back, her blows relentless and unforgiving.
Then, with a final, decisive right hook, she sent her opponent crashing to the ground like a fallen tree. She stood over him for a moment, her chest heaving with exertion and adrenaline, before straightening up and fixing the crowd with a fierce glare.
“Is that all you’ve got?” she roared, her voice echoing through the arena. “Come on! Give me a real challenge!”