Page 3 of Serpent King's Prisoner

For a second, it was nice to forget this was my job, and just lean into the idea that this was my life.

“Which one’s your favorite?” A voice broke through my daydream, smooth and unexpected.

Startled, I opened my eyes to meet the gaze of a man who could only be described as stunning. As if his voice alone wasn’t doing enough things to me.

Tall, with muscles visible even under his simple white tee and jeans, he had this air about him that screamed both danger and charm. His smile was easy, but the scrape on his forearm hinted at a story I wasn’t sure I wanted to know.

Okay, I definitely wanted to know.

Dark ink coiled itself around his arm muscles line vines, ending under the sleeve of his white shirt.

I took a second to look him up and down. I didn’t know that much about fashion, but that shirt was Tom Ford for sure. The dark jeans looked tailored. The shoes…bespoke, for sure. I’d never seen anything like them before.

And he wore a large blue Patek Phillipe watch.

This was quiet luxury…after it had been amplified by a giant fucking megaphone.

This man wasn’t just sexy, he was rich rich.

He raised his eyebrows, looking at me and waiting.

“Sorry, right, my favorite,” I said. I had to stop staring at him. “I don’t know much about flowers. I guess the pink?”

“Those are nice,” he said, picking up a bouquet with pink lilies nestled among other blooms. “They’re yours if you want them.”

“Wait, seriously?” I asked, then cocked my head as I regarded him suspiciously. “Do you even work here?”

I could tell he was trying to hold back a smile. “Something like that.” There was a flicker of amusement in his dark eyes. “You’re Abby, right? From the coffee shop?”

“Guilty.” I allowed a small smile, though my gut twisted with a mix of attraction and danger.

“Take the flowers,” he said, handing me the bouquet.

I took it despite myself. “Honestly, I’m worried I won’t be able to keep them alive.”

“You’ll do fine,” he replied, his tone nice, even. “If you need any pointers, just let me know.”

“Right,” I said.

“Be careful with them, though,” he cautioned, gesturing to the pink bouquet in my arms. “They’re beautiful but poisonous.”

“Thanks for the heads up,” I replied. Of course he would know. As I turned to leave, our gazes locked briefly, and I felt an unspoken challenge pass between us.

This man was gorgeous and I most definitely needed to get laid.

…maybe next time.

I made my way down the street, the weight of his gaze lingering on my back like a promise or a threat. Chinatown was only thirty minutes away from the Tenderloin by foot and it was a nice enough day that I wanted the walk.

I liked San Francisco, too. I liked the weather and the hills and the storefronts. I had only been there for a few months, but I could already see myself getting used to it.

Once I was back in my shitty little Tenderloin apartment–thanks, the government–I navigated the deadbolts with practiced ease, securing myself within the modest space.

The flowers found a temporary home in an old kettle filled with water, a makeshift vase that seemed oddly fitting for my transient life. I settled onto the couch, a sigh escaping me as I tried to shake off the encounter.

My phone buzzed, an unwelcome intrusion that pulled me back to reality. It was Tyler, his message cloaked in the mundane but heavy with implications. “What’s up?” it read, masquerading as a casual check-in.

I rolled my eyes. The last thing I wanted to do was deal with him. I knew I couldn’t just ignore him, though.

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