Page 43 of Serpent King's Prisoner

Moving through the darkened corridors of the apartment, I felt like a ghost haunting his own life. Every step was heavy with the burden of actions I couldn’t undo, choices I wished I’d never had to make.

When I reached the spot where I’d tossed the sharpened plastic, my fingers closed around the shiv. It was crudely fashioned, yes, but the balance and edge were too perfect for something made in haste. This wasn’t the work of desperation; it was the craft of someone trained, someone who knew exactly what they were doing. Alarm bells began to ring in my head as I turned the weapon over in my hand.

“Damn it,” I muttered under my breath. My gaze flicked back to the direction of the room where I’d left Abby. Could she be more than she seemed? An art history degree didn’t equip someone with the know-how to create such a tool. But maybe…

…fuck. I didn’t know who the hell I’d brought into my life, and now she was learning all my secrets, slowly but surely.

“Abby Harper,” I whispered her name, testing the weight of it against the reality I was beginning to piece together. “Who are you really?”

I needed to find out. And if she got hurt…well, maybe she shouldn’t have crossed me in the first place.

Chapter Twenty-One: Abby

Ijolted awake to the sound of shuffling.

I was still cuffed–and in pain, my wrist raw–and I was naked, drenched in old blood and sweat and arousal. I was sore between my legs, my clothes rumpled.

And there was Nathan, his back turned to me, shrugging into a leather jacket.

Like this was just an ordinary hookup.

Morning light sneaked in through the blinds, casting shadows over his inked skin—a dragon swirling across his torso like it was guarding him. I was hit with a wave of memories from last night, feeling raw and used, and I couldn’t shake the sensation of his tongue on my skin, tasting my vulnerability.

I should have probably left him alone, but I already felt so dirty.

“Hey,” my voice came out raspy, “I need to pee.”

He paused, a dark silhouette against the graying dawn. Without turning, he said in that low rumble I was starting to know too well, “Don’t even think about trying anything, Abby.”

“Look at me, Nathan.” My tone was flat, sharp with an edge of reality. “I’m naked, you’ve got who knows how many pounds on me, and I’m in a locked apartment owned by a guy whose name makes grown men tremble. What am I going to do, fly?”

A grunt, then he faced me, his expression unreadable. He strode over—each step measured, controlled—and without a word, he uncuffed me. The cold metal left my wrists, and blood rushed back with a sting of freedom I didn’t really have.

“Thanks,” I muttered, rubbing my wrists as I stood. My legs were jelly, but I managed to keep my stance defiant. Nathan watched with those deep-set eyes that missed nothing, and I forced myself to meet his gaze, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing me falter.

“Make it quick,” he said, and there was a warning there, one that told me he was letting me go only so far. He stood in the doorway, a guardian of my limited liberty, as I shuffled past him into the bathroom.

The humiliation of needing his permission for something so basic gnawed at me, but I pushed it down. There was no room for that here, not when I was playing a game where every move counted. And right then, I needed to play it smart, because Fangs was the kind of man who held life and death in his palms as easily as he would hold one of his precious orchids.

I tried to close the bathroom door behind me, but it was a futile gesture. Nathan didn’t budge from his spot, his silhouette filling the frame like a sentry, stopping me from moving at all.

“Really?” I scowled at him, my voice edged with as much irritation as I could muster. “You’re going to watch?”

“Wouldn’t put it past you to try something,” he replied coolly. The indifference in his tone only fueled my anger.

“Like what? I’m practically naked and unarmed,” I countered, letting my gaze drop pointedly to the floor before meeting his eyes again. I sat on the toilet and got rid of the little remnants of my panties that were still left, which felt almost pointless, since he ripped them off.

He waited for me, staring into my eyes as I looked back at him.

“Shy bladder,” I commented dryly, trying to hide my unease under a veneer of nonchalance.

He leaned against the door frame, arms crossed over his chest. “I can wait.”

And he did. It was excruciating, the way he just stood there, an immovable force of nature. But eventually, nature called louder than my embarrassment, and I did what I needed to do. Flushing crimson, I washed my hands and face, avoiding my reflection in the mirror. I didn’t need a reminder of last night etched into my skin.

“Done,” I announced, more curtly than I intended.

Nathan tossed a bundle of clothes at me—it hit my chest and fell into my arms. These weren’t men’s clothes–they were new, with the tags just cut off. I supposed I should have been grateful.

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