Page 35 of Serpent King's Prisoner

He was Xinyi’s son, a former Serpent bruiser who’d left our organization to run the restaurant after we’d murdered his father. He had height and weight on me—but he didn’t pose a threat.

He may have thought he did, though…which was more dangerous for him than it was for me.

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” came a voice thick with barely suppressed rage.

I looked up into his scowling face, his eyes dark pools of disapproval. He was a tall man, built like a fighter, taking up space.

“Andrew,” I greeted, my voice flat. “Where’s your mother?”

“Handling actual business,” he sneered, leaning over the table and spreading his hands—maybe to show me just how big he was. I didn’t give a fuck. “You’re not welcome here, Nathan. This place is for paying customers, not for thugs who want to throw their weight around.”

His voice was loud, meant to carry, meant to humiliate. It rippled through the Mandarin Palace, turning heads. But I wasn’t some green kid easily cowed by raised voices or big talk.

“Sit down, Andrew.” My words were ice against the heat of his temper. “We wouldn’t want to cause a scene now, would we?”

He laughed, a harsh sound devoid of humor. “A scene? You think I give a damn about a scene? It’s you who should be worried about making one. You know what happens to people who disrespect this place.”

“Is that a threat?” I asked, leaning forward, my gaze never leaving his.

“Take it as a word of caution.”

“Your words are wind, Andrew,” I said, meeting his challenge. “But since we’re both men of action, why don’t we cut through the bluster? Sit, or leave. I have questions, and I will get answers, with or without your help.”

For a moment, tension crackled between us like a live wire. Then, slowly, Andrew pulled out the chair and sat down, the legs scraping audibly against the floor. His jaw was set, his body language screaming that this was his turf, and I was treading dangerous ground.

“Talk,” he demanded, though the control of the conversation had already slipped through his fingers. “And make it quick.”

“Always in a rush,” I observed, picking up the teacup and finally taking a slow sip. It was a small act of defiance—a signal that I would not be rushed, not on his terms. The tea warmed my throat, but it did nothing to quell the fire of the impending confrontation.

“Are your people behind the attacks on Serpents’ territory?” I asked directly, setting the teacup down with a gentle clink. My eyes locked onto his, searching for that flicker of truth or the shadow of a lie.

Andrew’s brow furrowed, and he leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms defensively. “Hell no,” he spat out, his voice carrying a mix of anger and incredulity. “We want nothing to do with that mess. My family, we stay clear of your…conflicts.”

Of course they did; we’d killed his father…and we hadn’t just done that. Ba had tortured him relentlessly, asking for information he didn’t have.

“Is that so?” I replied, my voice laced with skepticism. “Because from where I stand, it looks like you’re trying to get a rise out of the Serpents.”

“Believe what you want.” His hands unfolded and slammed onto the table, causing the delicate china to rattle. “But I’m telling you, we’re not involved. We keep our hands clean of your dirty business.”

“Sure,” I said, smirking at his feigned innocence. “And I’m just here for the tea.”

“Then drink up and leave,” Andrew shot back, his eyes narrowing into slits. “You’ve got no business with us.”

“Maybe,” I conceded, tapping my fingers rhythmically on the tabletop. “Or maybe you’re just better at hiding your tracks than most. But if I find out the Lins are lying...” I let the threat hang in the air, unfinished but understood.

Andrew leaned forward, hands spread once again on the table like he would reach across the table and strike me. “Get out of my mother’s restaurant,” he growled, trying to reclaim some semblance of authority.

“Or what?” I asked, rising to meet him eye to eye, unflinching. “You’ll ask nicely again?”

“Get out,” he repeated through gritted teeth.

I looked up at him, studying his face for any sign of deceit. But all I saw was the rage of a man who believed he could intimidate Nathan Zhou.

He had another thing coming.

“Listen,” I said, my voice cold and steady, “I don’t play games. You either get Xinyi Lin out here to talk to me, or—“

“Or what? You’ll make a scene?” Andrew scoffed, his confidence swelling as he misjudged the situation. “You’re in my world now, Fangs. Don’t forget that.”

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