Page 48 of Serpent King's Prisoner

Plant in hand, I stepped back onto the street before heading to my car. I wondered what Abby was doing right now—still shackled to the couch. I didn’t know what I was going to do about the girl in my safehouse, but I knew one thing.

Even if I wouldn’t admit it to her out loud…Abby deserved an apology. This was as much as I could do.

Chapter Twenty-Three: Abby

Itested the cuffs, and there was no way for me to get out.

I supposed I was grateful for being left in front of the TV. I hated that.

I flicked through the channels, each one as uninteresting as the last. Stuck in this dim apartment with nothing but my thoughts and the TV’s drone, I wondered when Dad would start piecing things together. When he’d realize his FBI-trained daughter didn’t just vanish into thin air. But more pressing than that was the question of Nathan’s return. The ache in my ankle, a constant reminder of the metal cuff biting into my skin, kept bringing me back to reality.

The pain elsewhere though...it was different. My body hadn’t forgotten the roughness of Nathan’s touch, how he claimed me without an ounce of gentleness. I tried to shove those memories to the far corners of my mind, but as I absentmindedly traced the bruises flowering across my skin, an unwanted heat began to coil inside me. It was wrong, so damn wrong to feel this way, especially after everything he’d done.

Yet here I was, my insides a confusing mess of hurt and hunger.

With my free hand—the only part of me not restrained—I slipped it down past the waistband of the shorts Nathan had gotten for me. He had, of course, neglected to get me any underwear. The dull light caught on the freckles scattered like a map across my fair skin, a marked contrast to the dark shades blooming from last night’s encounter.

Touching myself felt like betrayal, not just to my own sense of self but to the badge and gun I’d left behind. But it was either give in to the sensation or drown in the memory of his scent, that mix of leather and something oaky, woody, masculine.

I pressed hard against my swollen clit, a gasp escaping me as vivid images of Nathan flashed in my mind. I could almost hear his voice, low and menacing, telling me I was nothing more than a hole for his pleasure. I should have been angry…but God help me, the harsh words sent a surge of desire straight to my core. With each stroke, I tried to chase away the thought of him, but it was like trying to outrun my own shadow—impossible.

“Fuck, Nathan,” I whispered to the empty room, the sound of his name on my lips pushing me closer to the edge. My breath hitched, and I fell into the abyss of my own climax. It hit me like a freight train, obliterating every other sensation until there was nothing but blinding pleasure. For a moment, I lost everything—the sound of the television, the sight of the apartment walls, even the pain in my ankle faded away, leaving me adrift in a sea of white noise.

And then, just as quickly as it came, it was gone, leaving me panting and hollow on the sofa that had become my prison. The post-orgasm clarity was cruel, reminding me of my situation, of the man who’d put me here. I lay still, waiting for my hearing to return, wondering what game Nathan was playing—and how I could turn the tables before it was too late.

The jangle of keys in the lock startled me back to reality as I tried to catch my breath. I sat up, my heart stuttering in my chest as the door swung open. Nathan strolled in, a casual look on his face that didn’t match the darkness I’d seen in him before. He was carrying a bag of groceries in one hand and a potted plant in the other, the contrast so stark it could’ve been comical if the situation weren’t so twisted.

“Back so soon?” I tried to sound nonchalant, but my voice betrayed a hint of the fear still lingering from last night’s encounter.

“Needed to get a few things,” he said, setting down the plant and groceries on the counter like he was just another guy coming home after a run to the store.

But we both knew he wasn’t. And this wasn’t home.

“Can you uncuff me?” I asked, raising my wrists slightly though neither of my hands were cuffed, the metal biting into my skin. “I need to pee.”

His eyes narrowed, studying me for a moment, no doubt weighing the risk. “You’re not exactly the most trustworthy person right now, Abby.”

“Come on, Nathan. It’s not like I’m asking for a spa day. I just need to use the bathroom.” There was an edge of desperation creeping into my tone, but I couldn’t help it—the cuffs were starting to chafe, and the psychological toll of being bound wasn’t helping either.

He thought about it for a few seconds. “Fine.” He sighed, as though granting me this small mercy was a monumental favor. He knelt in front of me like he had this morning, grabbing my hand, then smirked.

I had no idea what he was smirking about…and then he grabbed my fingers, sticking them in his mouth one by one, licking the traces off my arousal of them as his gaze held mine. “Good girl,” he said, and I hated how much my body throbbed at his words.

I held back tears, unsure of how to feel about this, but he didn’t give me much time to think. He leaned down and unlocked the cuffs. They clicked as he released me.

“Thank you,” I muttered, my voice stiff. I sat there, rubbing at the red marks on my wrist for a second, then stood up as he watched me.

I wondered if he was going to go to the bathroom with me, if he was going to watch me pee again, but he didn’t. He just stayed there, watching as I made my way to the bathroom. Inside, I did what I had to do, washed my hands and splashed cold water on my face, avoiding my reflection in the mirror. The bruises were there—I didn’t need to see them to know. They were reminders of his strength, his control, and they fueled my resolve to find a way out.

I finished up and walked back into the main room where Nathan had started unpacking the groceries. I eyed the potted plant he’d brought in; it was a small touch of normalcy in a situation that was anything but normal.

As he busied himself with putting away the groceries, I wandered over to the flowers he had brought—a splash of color against the sterile backdrop of the apartment. Their scent was delicate, a reminder of life beyond these walls. I touched a petal gently, almost absent-mindedly, as I mulled over my next move.

“You got these for me?” I asked, my voice carefully neutral.

“Thought they’d brighten up the place,” Nathan replied without turning around.

“Last time you gave me flowers,” I said with a dry laugh that didn’t quite reach my eyes, “you abducted me.”

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