Page 23 of Serpent King's Revenge

"She's okay," he repeated, as if to convince himself more than me.

"Is she really?" I asked, a knot forming in my stomach. The thought of her hurt, because of this life, because of me, twisted something deep inside.

Owen rubbed his forehead, looking tired. "She's safe, Nathan. That's what matters. She's safe and with your siblings. I wouldn’t lie to you."

"Good," I managed to say, though my mind raced with worry for her. I wanted to push, to find out what he wasn’t telling me, but I let it be. There were bigger things at stake.

"Tell me, Owen. What does the FBI want from me?" I needed to understand the game they were playing.

"Your cooperation," he said bluntly. "They think you know enough to bring down the Serpents."

I scoffed. Cooperating meant betraying my family, betraying my father—the man they called the Serpent. "I won't give up my siblings, Owen. You know I can't. And Ba…if I so much as breathe a word against him, he'll have someone cut my throat before I can blink. He has people here."

Owen’s gaze hardened, and in that moment, he looked every bit the formidable man who had survived years in the brutal world we both inhabited. Given how he doted on his daughter, it was easy to forget that he was the guy who’d brought down the Rossis in Boston. "I'm here to protect my daughter, Nathan. If it comes down to it, I'll take down your father myself to keep Abby safe."

I’d never had anyone else step in to shield my family from harm. It had always been me, facing the brunt of it all. Owen's offer knocked the breath from me, as if someone had socked me in the gut.

"Speaking of which…are you alright?" Owen asked, with a hint of concern cutting through his gruff exterior.

"Alright?" I let out a harsh laugh that scraped my throat raw. The idea seemed ludicrous given the cold metal cuffing my wrists and the stink of despair clinging to my skin. Owen let out a snort, the sound bitter but somehow understanding.

I leaned forward, lowering my voice so only he could hear. "If I give you what you want…we gotta move fast. Not just for Abby—for all of them." My eyes darted around the barren room, the weight of my next words heavy on my tongue. "My whole family needs to get out of California. And me…" I paused, the finality of my situation settling in like cement around my feet. "I'll probably die in here."

Owen's eyes bore into mine, and for a moment, we were just two men bound by a common goal, stripped of the titles that made us enemies outside these walls. "You have my word, Nathan. We'll act fast. Just tell me what you know. I’ll have you put in solitary, it’s safer there—"

"No. It's hell.” I cut him off before he could build a case for the hole they threw me into. “I'll lose my mind if I go back there."

Owen's eyes narrowed, but he nodded. "I'm listening," he said simply.

I sucked in a breath, steadying myself for the confession that would change everything. "The night the cops came for me…I saw something." My throat felt tight, the words struggling to come out. "I watched my father kill my mother.”

The air in the room seemed to still, heavy with the weight of what I'd just revealed. Owen's face remained unreadable, but his hand tightened imperceptibly on the table. "Your father…" he began, but couldn't seem to finish.

"Yeah," I said, my voice barely more than a rasp. "He executed her. She was behind the arson cases. Some kind of power play."

In the silence that followed, I could see the wheels turning behind Owen’s eyes. He leaned back in his chair, the distance between us now filled with the ghosts of countless unsaid things.

"Abby," I finally breathed out, the name feeling like a lifeline. "She's…she's gotta be scared, right?" The words tumbled out, heavy with guilt. "I would never hurt her. She means everything to me." But that was the sick joke of it all—I already had.

Owen’s gaze softened, just a fraction, but he didn't speak. It was my turn to fill the silence.

And for some reason—for some stupid reason—I started spilling my guts to him.

"Behind the bookcase in his study," I said, my voice steadier than I felt, "there's a room." Owen let out a short, disbelieving laugh, but it died as quickly as it came when he saw the earnestness in my eyes. "I'm serious. There's a keypad hidden in the woodwork. He thinks he's clever."

"Code?" Owen asked, his voice low.

"0524. My birthday." The numbers were etched into my mind, a code I'd dialed more times than I could count, always with a sense of dread. "You'll find what you need there. It's where they plan the hits, clean the guns, get rid of evidence. His personal slaughterhouse."

"Address," Owen pressed, his voice urgent now.

I gave him that, too. The words felt like a death sentence leaving my lips, sealing my fate. With every detail I gave, I knew I was digging my grave deeper, but it was too late for second thoughts. I'd crossed the line now.

Maybe someone would kill me and make it quick. That would spare Abby the hell of a life with me.

Or maybe this would be my salvation.

Whatever happened…it was better than this. Better than limbo.

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