Page 98 of Serpent King's Prisoner

“Is he okay?” Her words were soft but urgent as she sat up, the sheets pooling around her waist. She reached out toward me, her green eyes searching my face for something—reassurance or maybe the truth.

I hesitated, not used to this kind of worry being directed at me, especially not from someone like Abby. Someone who didn’t know the life I was born into, the life that now demanded I go and avenge my blood.

“Abby, stay here,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. I couldn’t afford to be distracted, not with Justin lying in a hospital bed because someone had dared to target the Serpents.

“Please, just—“ Her hand brushed mine, and for a second, I wanted to cling to that soft touch, to forget the violence that awaited me outside our door.

“Stay out of it,” I snapped, pulling away. I didn’t have time to comfort her, to explain. There was a code to follow, a debt to be settled. I turned on my heel, stalking towards the door and down the stairs with a purpose.

But she was persistent, her bare feet padding softly against the floor as she followed me.

“Talk to me, Nathan. Please.” Her voice was barely above a whisper, but it cut through the air, demanding attention I couldn’t give.

“Nothing to talk about,” I grumbled, clenching my fists. It was a lie; there was everything to talk about, but not now, not with the chaos that waited for me. Feelings had no place in the world I lived in, they just got you killed—or worse, they got the ones you care about killed.

“Is he going to be okay?” she asked, her hand hovering at my arm, not quite touching.

My patience snapped.

I whirled around, seizing her by the jaw with a grip that was all too familiar with wielding force. “Listen to me, Abby,” I hissed, my voice low and dangerous, a stark reflection of the life I led away from the safe harbor of her presence. “I’m not your boyfriend. I own you, and you’re my fuckdoll. Fuckdolls don’t ask questions. They just wait to have their holes filled…so go the fuck back to bed and wait.”

Her green eyes flashed with a fire that would have made lesser men retreat, but I wasn’t just any man—I was Fangs Zhou, her keeper, her master. With a rough shove, I sent her stumbling back to the floor, her hands catching her fall.

“Nathan—“

“Keep your fucking mouth shut,” I spat out, the words like venom on my tongue. Her expression twisted with anger, her freckles standing out against her flushed skin—she looked every bit the fierce woman I knew she could be.

But this wasn’t her fight, and I’d do whatever it took to keep her out of it.

Turning on my heel, I stormed out, slamming the door behind me. The night air hit my face, doing nothing to cool the heat of my rage. This was my world, one where blood answered blood and the only law was survival. I stepped into the shadows, leaving behind the one person who might have seen through the darkness that clung to me.

But for tonight, there was no room for light, not when retribution awaited.

Chapter Forty-Four: Abby

Ihit the floor with a thud, Nathan’s shadow looming over me for just a fraction of a second before he was gone, the door slamming shut with a finality that echoed through the empty space.

I lay there, my cheek pressed against the cold tile, a bitter cocktail of hurt and fury stewing in my gut. Slowly, I pushed myself up, ignoring the dull ache along my jaw where his fingers had dug in too deep. The man I thought I was beginning to understand, to connect with, had just shown me another shade of his true colors—dark, twisted, unpredictable.

But as I stood up, steadying myself on the kitchen counter, my resolve hardened like the edge of a blade. I was an FBI agent, not some damsel to be tossed around. I filled a pot with water, set it on the stove, and grabbed eggs from the fridge. My hands worked automatically, cracking shells and whisking yolks, but my mind raced, forging a plan out of raw, seething intent. Breakfast was a mundane task, a cover for the chaos churning inside me.

I was going to make him pay, make Nathan “Fangs” Zhou regret ever laying a hand on Abigail Harper.

He was a killer, a rapist—the monster who had violated me, thinking he could control me. But he was wrong. Every glance at the cameras dotting the corners of the room fueled my anger. Was he watching? Did he think he had broken me? I kept my face impassive, the perfect mask of indifference while inside, a storm raged. This was the chance I needed, the moment to act.

Nathan might be a revered figure in the underworld, his philosophy degree and tender care for orchids doing nothing to soften the brutal nature of his existence. He held life and death in his hands, and I knew all too well how quickly his whims could turn lethal. Yet, here I was, cooking breakfast in his kitchen, plotting the downfall of the most powerful Triad boss’s son. There was no turning back now.

My thoughts drifted briefly to my father, to the lessons he taught me about survival and justice. I wouldn’t let him down. I wouldn’t let myself down. With each sizzle of the eggs in the pan, I felt my determination solidify. Nathan didn’t know who he was dealing with. He didn’t know that behind this façade of a recent UCLA grad was a woman forged in fire, fluent in Mandarin, and trained to take down men like him.

I was just lucky I hadn’t actually been a normal student trying to make it in San Francisco. He could’ve captured one of them. He could’ve raped one of them.

The idea of that made me so furious my hands actually shook.

As I plated the food, making it look as normal as any other morning, I vowed to see this through. Nathan had made it personal, and I’d use every skill I possessed to bring him to his knees. He may have closed himself off to me, but I saw through him clear as day. And soon, he’d see exactly what I was capable of.

I ate. Slowly, deliberately. Trying to calm myself down. I knew if I just acted while I was still enraged, I would make mistakes.

The simple act of chewing my breakfast and sipping my coffee grounded me, but it did little to abate the fury.

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