THIRTY SEVEN
B efore Phillip could claim Poison’s lips again, a loud, insistent banging on the loft door shattered the moment. He froze, a growl rumbling in his chest. Who the fuck dared to interrupt them now?
“Scor! Open up, it’s urgent!” Gunnar’s voice boomed through the door, the urgency cutting through the steam and intimacy of the bathroom.
Poison’s eyes widened, frustration and concern flickering across her face.
“What now?” she muttered, stepping back reluctantly.
“I’ll handle it,” he said, his voice a rough promise.
He stepped out of the shower, water streaming down his jeans, and grabbed a towel. Wrapping it around him, he strode to the loft door, his anger simmering just beneath the surface.
He yanked the door open, eyes blazing. Gunnar stood there, his face set in grim lines.
“This better be good,” he growled.
Gunnar’s eyes flicked over Phillip’s wet clothes, then back to his face.
“We’ve got a problem. A big one,” Gunnar said, stepping past him into the loft.
His jaw tightened. He glanced back at Poison, who had followed him, now standing just behind him, a towel wrapped around her. Her eyes sent daggers at Gunnar’s intrusion.
Gunnar’s eyes scanned over her barely covered body, and Phillip fought the urge to step into his view.
“Already playing house, I see,” Gunnar said, smirking, but the humor didn’t reach his eyes.
“Get to the point,” Phillip snapped, his patience thin.
Gunnar’s expression hardened. “Fine, I’ll get straight to it then,” he said with a shrug. “Reaper wants a death match. He’s challenging Poison.”
A chill ran through Phillip, sharper than the cold air. He glanced back at Poison, seeing her face transform from annoyance to fear to a fierce, determined mask. Her eyes blazed with fury.
“So, he wants to fight you before you’re back to full strength.” Phillip’s face hardened as he spoke, his mind shifting into combat mode, calculating every possible outcome. “The fucking coward.”
“Looks like it,” Gunnar confirmed. “What are you going to do about it?” he asked, turning to Poison, his face empty of all emotion.
“I said I’m dropping it, but if he’s challenging me, who am I to say no?” Poison replied, her eyes already distant, focused on formulating a strategy.
Phillip’s heart clenched at her determination. He knew she was fierce, but this wasn’t just another fight; it was a death match against Reaper. A fighter who gets under her skin and is strong enough to have killed her brother and evaded retribution.
“You didn’t happen to hear when he wants to fight, did you?” she asked Gunnar, her voice steady but edged with urgency.
Gunnar shook his head.
“No. My source just told me he wanted a fight, but in the underground, it’s usually no longer than two weeks.”
Two weeks. Phillip’s mind raced. It wasn’t much time. He stepped closer to her, placing a hand on her shoulder, feeling the tension in her muscles.
“We’ll get through this. Together. But you know you do not have to accept,” he said, his voice a low, fierce promise.
She met his gaze, and he saw the fire in her eyes, the same fire that burned within him. This wasn’t just about survival; it was about proving their strength, their resilience. He couldn’t help but feel a surge of pride for her, his warrior, standing strong even in the face of such danger. He turned to Gunnar, his voice commanding.
“We need a plan. Gun, I want you to gather every piece of information we can get on Reaper’s recent fights. I’ll start organizing the training schedule. We focus on endurance, speed, and counter-attacks. She needs to be ready for anything.”
Everyone fell silent, tension reaching a boiling point. Eventually he broke the silence, his eyes locked on Poison.
“What style of fighting is Reaper trained in?”
“Krav Maga,” she replied, her voice steady but her eyes betraying a flicker of doubt. “He’s been all over the world, training in all types of different styles, but he favors Krav Maga.”
He studied her, noting the determination in her stance despite the weight of her words. She wasn’t done yet. She might have said that she was going to let go of her plan for revenge, but he knew she couldn’t and he didn’t blame her.
“He knows my fighting style, but I haven’t seen him fight for over ten years.”
Her shoulders slumped slightly, the enormity of the challenge clear in her eyes. He stayed close to her, their hands entwined. The reality of Reaper’s challenge loomed over them.
“I’ll train you,” he said.
She looked up at him, surprise and hope mingling in her gaze. “What?”
“I’ll train you,” he repeated, his eyes intense. “I’ve been doing martial arts since I was five. My father sent me to different training camps. I know a few variations of styles, but I have a black belt in Krav Maga. I can teach you.”
She stared at him. “You would help me?” Her smile, full of awe and gratitude, lit up her face and made his heart cramp.
“I would most definitely,” he reassured her. “Let’s give Reaper a run for his money.”
Before she could respond, he bent down and kissed her, a brief but fierce connection that left her breathless.
“As sickeningly sweet as that is,” Gunnar began, and for a moment, Phillip had forgotten about his presence. “You two are so busy with each other that you’re forgetting she’s still incompetent with that arm of hers in a cast.”
“We’ll see how incompetent I am when I punch you again, this time with the cast,” she warned, her eyes flashing with challenge.
“Watch your tone,” Phillip growled, then realization struck him, making his head snap toward her.
“Wait, you punched him?”
She answered with a proud smile that had him grinning back at her.
“I would have paid to see that,” he laughed, feeling a swell of pride and amusement.
The image of her landing a punch made his heart swell. He loved her fierceness, her unapologetic spirit.
Gunnar rolled his eyes. “Yeah, well, next time, she might want to aim better. I’m still standing, aren’t I?”
Phillip’s grin widened, a mischievous glint in his eyes.
“She’ll get plenty of practice. Trust me.”
Her laughter joined his, a sound that eased some of the tension that had been building. “You bet I will.”
Phillip turned serious, his gaze locking onto Poison’s. “We’ll work around the cast. I know it’s a disadvantage, but we’ll make it work. We start tonight. I’ll speak to my boss…” he trailed off, his mind already racing.
“Oh yeah? About what?” She looked up at him, her eyes questioning.
“We’ll use his gym to train you. It’s got everything we need,” he said, slipping into combat mode, his focus narrowing on the task at hand.
“That’s great, but we’ll have to wait at least a few days.” She pointed to the cast on her arm. “I can barely dress myself; there’s no way I can fight yet.”
Her words hit him hard. Frustration surged through him, overtaking his concern.
“We have to start tonight!” he growled, his voice raw with urgency and anger.
The intensity of his outburst startled her, her eyes wide with shock. Her shock quickly turned to anger, her eyes narrowing as she stared at him. He had no right to yell at her like that, he knew, but he couldn’t help it. Fear for her sake overtook all rational thought. Gunnar watched them, his expression unreadable.
“Fine. Tonight, at six,” she snapped, her voice filled with venom.
Without another word, she turned on her heels and stomped off to the bathroom to get dressed, leaving him standing there, seething. As he watched her go, a wave of guilt ate at the cold resolve in his chest. He knew he had overreacted, but the thought of her being unprepared, of facing Reaper at less than full strength, was something he couldn’t accept.
He took a deep breath, trying to steady the storm within him. He needed to be strong, not just for her but for both of them. They didn’t have the luxury of time, and he couldn’t afford to let his emotions get in the way.
Gunnar cleared his throat, drawing his attention back.
“Just remember, training isn’t a game. Reaper’s not going to go easy on her because she is injured.”
Phillip’s expression hardened, his protective instincts flaring.
“We know what’s at stake. And we’re not taking any chances.”
With that, Gunnar nodded.
“Alright. I’ll leave you to it then. Just don’t let your emotions get in the way of the fight.”
Phillip watched Gunnar leave, his mind already shifting to the training ahead.
He felt a shift inside him. His concern for Poison remained, but it was now wrapped in a hard, cold determination. They would train, and they would be ready. Reaper would not catch them unprepared. This fight was too important, and he would make sure she was ready, no matter what it took.
Later that night, at precisely six, Poison heard Scorpion’s footsteps coming up the metal steps. He had said he needed to get a few things in order for their training and had left.
She was already in her training clothes, her hair pulled back in a tight bun. Wordlessly, she followed him back down to the garage, where he handed her a helmet without a word.
She swung her leg over his bike, her heart pounding. And as soon as she was settled, he sped away, the engine roaring as they navigated the traffic.
Anger simmered within her, threatening to boil over. The rush of wind and the hum of the bike couldn’t
drown out the turmoil in her mind.
Panic had seized her when she heard about Reaper’s challenge, but it was Scorpion’s reaction that cut deep. He was furious at her for it as if she had chosen this timing. Reaper hadn’t officially challenged her yet, so why couldn’t she allow her battered body to heal for a few more days? Yet, she decided to follow Scorpion’s lead. She didn’t have the energy to fight him on this.
When they arrived at the gym, an armored guard opened the door, allowing them inside. Scorpion flipped on the lights, revealing the most high-tech gym she had ever seen. In one corner stood a brand-new boxing ring, smaller than the usual ones. Boxing bags, shelves of gloves, weights, and exercise machines filled the rest of the room.
Scorpion walked to the open space next to the boxing ring, where mats covered the entire floor area. As they got closer, she noticed the stash of fighting bamboo sticks, swords, and other weapons against the opposite wall. Once they were on the mats, Scorpion produced a knife from his pocket and tossed it to her. She caught it with her un-casted arm, the metal cool against her skin. His gaze flicked to the cast on her arm.
“Cut it off,” he demanded, his voice cold and.
She hesitated for a moment, but the intensity in his eyes left no room for argument. She did as he instructed, the knife slicing through the cast with a finality that chilled her nerves. Her arm, still tender and weak, throbbed with a dull ache.
Scorpion’s expression softened slightly as he stepped closer.
“We don’t have time for you to heal the usual way,” he said, his voice a bit gentler. “We need to get you ready now.”
She nodded, swallowing her resentment. She understood the urgency, the need to prepare, but it didn’t make it any easier to bear.
After she removed the cast and handed Scorpion his knife back, she tried to make a fist with her injured arm, but it refused to cooperate.
“You know I’m going to be hard on you, right?” Scorpion’s voice was a steel edge.
“As long as you don’t kill me this time,” she shot back, her tone just as sharp.
His eyes bore into hers. “No weapons. We’ll start with basics.”
He moved to the center of the mat, his stance ready. She followed, her body tense, adrenaline coursing through her veins.
“First, show me your stance,” he commanded.
She positioned herself, trying to ignore the throbbing in her arm. He circled her, his gaze critical.
“You’re off-balance,” he said, kicking her leg slightly to adjust her position.
The moment she steadied herself, he attacked, moving with lightning speed. She barely had time to react, blocking his punch with her good arm. The impact sent a shockwave through her body, but she held her ground.
“Good,” he muttered. “Again.”
He came at her relentlessly, his strikes precise and powerful. She dodged and blocked, her muscles screaming in protest. Sweat dripped down her face, but she refused to back down.
His fist grazed her ribs, and she winced, but she didn’t retreat. She countered with a swift kick, catching him off guard. He stumbled back, and a flash of pride surged through her.
“Don’t get cocky,” he growled, his eyes narrowing.
He lunged at her, sweeping her legs out from under her. She hit the mat hard; the breath knocked out of her.
Before she could recover, he pulled her up. “Never hesitate,” he hissed, his face inches from hers. “Hesitation will get you killed.”
So this was how it was going to be – all business—no room for emotions.
“Focus,” he commanded, his voice a whip crack.
He attacked again, and they fell into a brutal rhythm, each strike and counterstrike a dance of survival.
Hours blurred together. Pain became a constant companion, but so did determination. She pushed through, her anger fueling her movements. She wouldn’t let Scorpion break her. She couldn’t.
At about one in the morning, he finally called a halt. He was breathing hard, sweat glistening on his skin.
Without a word, he led her to the bike and drove them home, the ride too silent.
He dropped her off, his expression unreadable. “Tomorrow, same time,” he said. “I have a job to do, so I’ll pick you up at six.”
He handed her the key to his factory and drove away without saying goodnight.
She stood there, watching him disappear into the night. Exhausted, sore, and angry, she felt a flicker of something else – respect. Scorpion’s methods were harsh, but she knew he was pushing her because he believed in her.
She walked inside, her body aching but her determination unbroken. Tomorrow, she would train harder. She would become stronger. And when the time came, she would face Reaper and finally retaliation would prevail.