Page 32 of Serpent King's Prisoner

“Keep dreaming, little brother,” I retorted coldly. “I’m not going anywhere. And this place,” I glanced around the shop, my gaze lingering on the orchids that thrived under my care, “it’s more me than you’ll ever understand.”

“Whatever you say, big bro,” Alex said with a nonchalant shrug. “Just remember, I’m always here if you need someone to take over the heavy lifting.”

“Thanks for the offer, but I’ve got it covered.” My tone was dismissive, but we both knew the conversation wasn’t really about the shop or who was strongest. It was about power, legacy, and the unspoken tension that always simmered between us.

“Suit yourself,” Alex said, pushing off from the counter. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

With that, he slipped out the same way he came in, leaving me alone with the greenery and a growing unease. It was clear Alex wanted more than just answers; he wanted my seat at the table.

And if I wasn’t careful, he might just get it.

I let out a long exhale and turned back to the plants that lined the shelves of my little sanctuary. It was always easier to deal with them than with people; they never wanted more from me than water and care, never eyed my position with hungry ambition.

The shop bell tinkled softly as Alex disappeared into the street beyond, the sound a sharp contrast to the pounding of my heart. I ran a hand over my face, feeling the stubble that had begun to form. I needed to stay focused, keep my game tight. If Alex sensed any weakness, any vulnerability, he would circle like a shark smelling blood in the water.

“Everything alright, Mr. Zhou?” The clerk’s voice drifted from the front, laced with a note of concern that I quickly squashed.

“Fine,” I called back, softer than I intended. “Just another day in paradise.”

I checked the locks on the back door before making my way to the front of the shop. The clerk raised an eyebrow at me, but I just flashed him a grin that didn’t reach my eyes.

“Let’s keep those smiles up for the customers, eh?” I instructed, clapping him on the shoulder before stepping behind the counter to busy myself with reordering stock that didn’t need reordering.

In the quiet moments, my mind wandered back to Abby, tied up in my apartment. She was a complication I hadn’t anticipated, one that could unravel everything if not handled correctly. But there was something about her, something that made it hard to think of her as just another problem to be solved.

I shook my head, trying to dispel thoughts of her. This wasn’t the time for distractions. I had a business to run, a reputation to uphold, and a brother who wouldn’t hesitate to take it all away from me.

“Focus,” I muttered under my breath, “keep it together, Nate.”

The rest of the day passed in a blur of customers and phone calls, each one a reminder of the double life I led. And through it all, I couldn’t shake the unsettling feeling that this was just the calm before the storm.

Chapter Seventeen: Abby

Iwoke up with my head throbbing again, the pain a relentless reminder of the night before.

The world was sharper than it had been that morning, and fear still clung to me, suffocated me.

I didn’t have the luxury of being afraid, though.

Lying in the unfamiliar bed, I knew it was time to stop reeling and start planning.

I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, the fabric of the white shirt brushing against my thighs–a shirt that was definitely not mine. It smelled like clean and clear laundry detergent, but not like him. I didn’t know if I was supposed to be relieved or annoyed.

My bare feet hit the cold tile floor, and I made my way to the bathroom, each step a calculation as I looked around.

In the cramped space of the bathroom, I relieved myself quickly, eager to return to the task at hand. As I washed my hands, I caught sight of myself in the mirror. An ugly, purpling bruise marred the right side of my forehead, a souvenir from…a gun. Nathan’s gun. This was what he had done to knock me out.

Fuck.

And there, fixed neatly over the wound, was a bandage – clean, precise, clinical.

Confusion mixed with the bile rising in my throat. It was odd, unsettling even, that Nathan would bother tending to the gash. The man who had struck me without hesitation had also taken care to patch me up. I understood violence, but the psychopath tending to my wounds as if that was just a thing kidnappers did was fucking bizarre.

I pressed a tentative finger to the edge of the bandage, half-expecting pain to lance through my skull. But it was just a dull ache, a ghost of last night’s agony. Nathan may have played nurse, but I wasn’t about to be fooled. He was no caregiver. He was a predator, and I was trapped in his den.

I looked at my reflection in the mirror, make-up smeared on my face, as I took stock of my situation.

The stakes were clear: escape or die trying. Nathan—fuck, Fangs—might have the upper hand, but I wasn’t some damsel in distress. I was Abigail Harper, a fucking FBI agent, and I intended on being a survivor. I’d been trained for situations like this, taught to look danger in the eye and spit in its face. If Nathan thought he could break me, he was in for a rude awakening. I’d play his game, for now, but on my terms. And when the time came, I’d be ready to make my move.

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