Page 123 of Serpent King's Prisoner

Iwoke up to the sound of water hitting tile, a steady rhythm that let me know Abby was already up. The clock on the nightstand read just past seven in the morning.

Slipping out of bed, I left Abby to her shower. The apartment was silent, save for the distant hum of traffic starting to buzz through San Francisco's waking streets. There was something I needed to do, something normal, something right. I made my way to the kitchen and started on the coffee. It was a simple task, but I took satisfaction in getting the grind and water ratio just right.

I was happy.

Maybe for the first time in my whole life.

Once the coffee was brewing, I stepped outside to the patio overlooking the sea. The garden was my sanctuary, a slice of Eden in a concrete jungle. Roses bloomed red as wine, a stark reminder of moments less serene. I snipped carefully, gathering them in a rough bouquet. Bringing beauty into the house, into our space—it felt like an act of defiance against the chaos of my family's world.

I arranged the roses in a vase and set them on the kitchen table, where they stood out against the dark wood. Despite everything spiraling out of control with the Triad, with my father—the Serpent—casting his long shadow over the city, this small moment with Abby was untainted.

In her, I found peace, a still point in the turning world.

I glanced toward the stairs, listening for the shower to stop, for the soft pad of Abby's footsteps. I wanted to see her, fresh-faced with sleep still clinging to her, and tell her good morning. I wanted to hand her a mug of that pitch-black coffee and watch her wrap both hands around it, green eyes meeting mine with that spark of humor I'd grown to crave.

The scent of brewing coffee filled the air, mixing with the aroma of toasting bread. It was nothing fancy, but I made it with a bit of pride. Ma had always said a man should know his way around the kitchen, even if it wasn't his battlefield.

Eggs cracked in the pan, sizzled and spat as I scrambled them, my thoughts drifting to Abby upstairs—the way her laughter echoed through the rooms, how she painted life in strokes I never knew existed before her—

A sharp rap on the door cut through the morning calm like a knife's edge. My hand stilled on the spatula, brow furrowing.

Visitors were rare, especially unannounced ones, and never a good sign.

I wiped my hands on a dish towel, moving towards the front door. My heart thrummed a cautious rhythm, instincts honed by years in the shadows coming to the fore. I checked the doorbell camera, squinting at the screen.

A white guy in a cheap suit stood there, looking out of place and uneasy. He shifted from foot to foot, glancing back over his shoulder as if expecting someone, or something, to jump out at him.

Who the hell was this guy?

I opened the door just enough to fill the gap with my frame, not letting him see inside. The glare I fixed him with had sent stronger men scurrying, but he held his ground. "What do you want?" I asked, voice low and even.

"Tyler Matthews," he introduced himself, oblivious to the danger he was in. "I'm looking for Abby Harper."

Abby's name on his lips sparked a flame of anger deep in my chest. This was Tyler, the ex she'd tried so hard to erase from her life—the one she’d said wouldn’t leave her alone.

And here he was…living proof.

I intended to force him to stop.

"Right." Forcing my features into a semblance of hospitality, I opened the door wider and stepped aside, the fake smile plastered on my face as cold and hollow as the grave. "Come in."

He hesitated, a flicker of suspicion crossing his face before he stepped over the threshold. It was like watching a fly willingly enter a spider's web.

"Thanks," he muttered, brushing past me.

As he entered, I took in his cheap suit that didn't quite fit right, his tie a half-inch too short. The way he carried himself screamed 'trying too hard' and it grated on my nerves. I couldn’t believe she’d ever allowed this piece of human garbage to touch her, when she was absolute fucking perfection.

I breathed.

Tried to focus.

Killing him would be reckless, but a threat…

"Nice place you got here," Tyler commented, craning his neck to look around the living room. His eyes lingered on the bouquet of freshly cut roses at the center of the table, as if he couldn't reconcile the beauty of it with the man standing before him. “So where is she?”

"Upstairs," I said tersely, feeling the edge in my voice like a blade against my tongue. "We're together now, and she doesn't want to hear from you anymore."

Tyler's gaze snapped back to mine, searching for a hint of weakness. He wouldn't find any. Abby had chosen me, and I wasn't about to let this ghost from her past haunt her present.

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