Page 20 of Serpent King's Prisoner

“In that case, are you crazy? Don’t say his name!” her friend hissed, pulling her closer. “You want to get us killed?”

I pretended to scroll through my phone, a practiced look of boredom plastered on my face, even as my heart raced. The Serpent’s Fang—one of the most well known Triad enforcers. Infamous, feared, and right now, apparently, just a whisper away.

If he was here, I was right. I was getting closer and closer to a breakthrough.

They couldn’t have known who was eavesdropping—an FBI agent planted right in the belly of the beast. Or that I had more reason than most to be interested in The Serpent’s Fang. My assignment meant I could take a tangible part in taking down one of the Triad’s most dangerous, scariest criminals…beyond just being here for reconnaissance.

I remained silent, another club-goer waiting for the bathroom as I hoped to hear more. The girls moved on to talking about men they knew, so I couldn’t glimpse anything else…yet.

Every one of my nerves was alert, every sense straining for another clue, another piece to the puzzle. Because in this world, information was power, and I was gathering mine piece by dangerous piece.

I pushed the door open, stepping out of the bathroom and right into a solid chest. My breath hitched—not from surprise, but because I knew that scent, an intoxicating mix of fresh flowers and something muskier, dangerous even.

“Sorry,” I mumbled instinctively, my training kicking in as I took a step back.

And there he was, Nate from the flower shop, grinning down at me like we were sharing some private joke. He was wearing a white button-up shirt that clung to his muscles, just see through enough that I could see the outline of a tattoo coiling itself around his pecs. The top two buttons of his collared shirt were unbuttoned so I could see just how much he worked out, and he wore dark trousers and brown combat boots.

I…should have stopped raking over him with my gaze because when I looked up, he was staring right at me with a cross of bewilderment and amusement on his face.

“Well, if it isn’t Abby from the coffee shop. You know, bumping into you is getting to be my favorite pastime.”

“Is it now?” I replied, trying to keep my voice light despite the sudden twist in my stomach. He wasn’t supposed to be here, not in the viper’s nest I was surveilling. “I guess I owe you an apology dinner, then?”

“You just bumped into me. I barely felt it.”

I could see why. He looked even bigger up close.

“Guess you don’t need that dinner then.”

His laugh was easy, disarming. “How about we start with a drink?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow confidently. “You did bump into me after all.”

My mind screamed protocols and warnings, but my mouth had other ideas. “Why wait? How about you buy me that drink right now?”

“Goddamn, I love a bold woman,” he said under his breath. I didn’t know if he had meant for me to catch it, but I had. And I loved it, though it did make my cheeks burn red.

“That a yes?” I asked.

“Lead the way,” he said with a bow that was just this side of mocking.

We navigated through the throngs of bodies, their movements a chaotic dance to the heavy beat that pulsed through the floor. The bar was a beacon in the dim club, and soon enough, Nate was ordering us drinks with the ease of someone who’d done it far too many times before.

“On my tab, brother,” he told the bartender, and I caught a glimpse of his wallet—a stack of cash too thick for casual use, and the kind of wristwatch that made ‘worker at a flower shop’ seem a little flimsy to be his profession.

“Nice watch,” I commented, unable to keep my eyes off the glint of the metal.

“Thanks,” he said, sliding me a glass filled with something clear and potent-smelling. “A lucky find.”

We clinked glasses and I took a sip, the alcohol sharp on my tongue. It was good—too good for a spur-of-the-moment choice. Everything about Nate was too good, too smooth. Like he knew exactly what he was doing, every second we spent together.

I should’ve known better, but I loved it.

I loved every moment I spent with him, even though it set everything about my body on edge.

“Cheers,” I said, meeting his eyes. They weren’t just brown; they were layers upon layers of secrets and untold stories. I was determined to read every single one.

“Alright, Abby,” he said, putting his drink down. “Let’s dance.”

Chapter Eleven: Abby

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