Page 66 of Serpent King's Prisoner

And I was playing for keeps.

Chapter Thirty-One: Nathan

Iwoke up with a start, the kind that leaves your heart racing and your mind spinning.

The sheets were twisted around my legs, a physical manifestation of the internal conflict that had plagued me all night. In the pit of my stomach, I felt it—a knot of dread, or maybe it was excitement.

It was hard to tell the difference these days.

The room was quiet, save for the distant hum of the city below. South Beach was never truly silent, but at this hour, even the restless energy of San Francisco seemed to hold its breath. I lay there for a moment longer, steeling myself for what had to be done.

This was a mistake.

Every rational part of me knew it.

Bringing Abby into my world, into my home—it went against every rule I’d ever set for myself. But as the sun began to bleed through the blinds, casting long shadows across the room, I realized that the decision had already been made.

I was in too deep, and there was no turning back now.

I slid out of bed, my movements deliberate as I grabbed my phone from the nightstand. My fingers worked swiftly over the screen, texting a couple guards about letting in delivery people, then I set to work getting what I would need for Abby—women’s clothes, groceries, and a unique kind of necklace.

Everything to make it look like she was my girlfriend…to erase the story we’d written in blood, here in this apartment.

My mind flashed to the dragon tattoo that snaked across my chest. It was a reminder of who I was, of the life I led. A life of violence, of control. Abby was a complication I hadn’t anticipated, a variable in an equation that was supposed to be simple.

Ba would have told me to be careful, to be selfish—to prioritize our family over all else. And yet, here I was, about to do the exact opposite. Abby wasn’t part of my self-preservation plan; she was a risk, a gamble on a human connection I wasn’t sure I deserved.

As the morning light began to filter through the blinds, I glanced over at Abby still curled up in bed, her face peaceful in sleep. The cuffs that had bound her wrists lay open on the nightstand, a silent testament to the tumultuous night before.

I’d almost killed her. If the night had gone as planned, she would be in pieces right now, dissolving in the industrial composter downstairs to one day feed my plants.

But here she was.

Alive.

And I knew then that I would keep her that way at any cost.

I moved from the bedroom, quiet as a ghost, prepared to erase any sign of what we’d done here. I could still feel the intensity of last night’s emotions, a storm that had raged within me. It was a force I had kept leashed for so long, but Abby…she had a way of slipping past my defenses.

And now, I was about to bring her into my world, my real life beyond these walls.

As I scrubbed the countertop, erasing every fingerprint, every mark that she had left behind, I heard the soft sound of footsteps. Abby stood in the doorway once again wearing one of my t-shirts, her green eyes taking in the sight of me trying to wipe away the evidence of her presence, her dark hair mussed. She watched silently, her expression unreadable.

Our eyes locked, a silent conversation passing between us. In that moment, we both understood the gravity of what was happening. I was crossing a line that could not be uncrossed, and Abby, whether she liked it or not, was coming with me.

“Still planning on keeping me alive, or are you erasing the evidence?” Her voice cut through the silence, sharp and clear.

I stopped scrubbing. My hands stilled on the countertop as I turned to face her fully. “I’ve had two chances now.” I met her gaze, my own eyes unflinching. “But I haven’t pulled the trigger, and I never will.”

A flicker of something—relief, confusion, fear—crossed her face before she masked it again with that stubborn resolve that both infuriated and intrigued me.

“But don’t get it twisted,” I continued, my voice low and steady. “That doesn’t mean I won’t use you exactly like I want. Even if you’re playing my girlfriend, you’re still mine to command.”

Her reaction was subtle, a slight tightening around her eyes, but she didn’t back down. She didn’t move. She just looked at me—a long, assessing stare that told me she was weighing her options.

“Your toy,” she repeated, testing the words, tasting the bitterness they left. “Your hole. I get it…and I like it.”

The air hung heavy between us, charged with tension. For a long moment, neither of us spoke.

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