Page 53 of Serpent King's Prisoner

“Wait, is it? I—“

He smirked. “I’m fucking with you, but just so we’re clear,” he started, standing and collecting the plates, “if you try anything—“ He paused, letting the threat hang unsaid between us.

“Got it,” I interrupted quickly, pushing back from the table. “Threats noted. Spoon attacks off the table.”

I followed him to the kitchen, the clatter of porcelain and silverware filling the space where our conversation should have been. Standing side by side at the sink, we fell into a rhythm; he scrubbed, I dried. The mundane task should have been comforting, but with every brush of his arm against mine, with every glance I stole at the dragon tattoo peeking from under his shirt, I felt like I was playing with fire. Nathan “Fangs” Zhou wasn’t a man you toyed with. And yet here I was, dabbing at dishes while trying to remember that this man was more dangerous than any weapon in this kitchen.

When we were done, I grabbed a plastic cup and filled it with cold water from the tap. I was careful to avoid his gaze, focusing on the cascading water filling each glass before I drained it. The cool liquid was a balm to my parched throat, and I couldn’t stop myself from drinking greedily, one glass after another.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Nathan’s voice sliced through the silence, an edge of annoyance—or was it concern?—coloring his tone.

I set the empty glass down with more force than necessary. “I haven’t had a chance to drink any water today,” I snapped back, feeling the pressure of his scrutiny. “I’m going to take advantage of it.”

He furrowed his brow. “Right.”

I drank another glass of water. Without a word, Nathan walked over to a locked cabinet at the far end of the kitchen. He tapped in a code, just like the codes on the other locked doors in this house, and the cabinet doors swung open to reveal rows of bottles, an arsenal of spirits. His hand paused over the selection before pulling out a corkscrew and a bottle of wine, then he shut and locked the cabinet again.

Okay…so not all the locked drawers and cabinets had handcuffs in them. Some of them had booze.

Good to know.

“Didn’t peg you for a wine guy,” I commented, trying to keep my voice light as he worked the cork free with a practiced twist.

He didn’t respond, just poured the deep red liquid into a plastic cup—a stark contrast to the rich drink—and pushed it across the bar toward me. Then, he poured himself a glass of it, in a proper wine glass.

Asshole.

I eyed the cup skeptically. “What’s the occasion?”

“Drink,” was all he said, not a suggestion but a command.

The wine swirled in the cup as I picked it up, watching the play of shadow and light through the red haze. It smelled like oak and something darker, something that reminded me too much of the blood that I knew stained Nathan’s hands.

“Cheers,” I muttered sarcastically, taking a small sip and watching him over the rim. He didn’t toast, didn’t sip—he just watched me, his expression unreadable.

“Finish it,” he urged.

I hesitated. “Why?”

“Scared it’s poisoned?” he asked, a hint of amusement in his voice now.

“Wouldn’t put anything past you,” I replied, letting my FBI training peek through the facade of vulnerability. I met his gaze then, challenging, defiant.

“My methods are rarely that delicate,” he said flatly, taking another sip of his drink. “Drink, Abby.”

I took a larger gulp of wine, proving I wasn’t afraid of him or his games.

“Good girl,” he murmured, almost approvingly, and I felt a shiver run down my spine—not of fear, but something far more dangerous.

“Stop calling me that,” I shot back, setting the cup down harder than before. My head was already spinning, the combination of exhaustion, hunger, and now the wine muddling my thoughts.

He smirked, his gaze sliding up and down my body as if he was appraising a piece of meat. “Are you sure?” he asked.

I could feel myself close to tears again, though this time, I wasn’t exactly sure why.

“Drink up,” he said, pouring another glass full and sliding it across the marble countertop toward me. His eyes were on mine, daring me to defy him.

I lifted the glass but paused. “I’m dizzy already,” I confessed, the room tilting a bit as I spoke. The truth was, I didn’t want to lose control—not completely, not with him. There was something so tempting about throwing caution to the wind. Something about giving myself over to him completely.

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