Page 48 of Serpent King's Revenge

Nathan was definitely gone.

The realization that I couldn't catch up, that I was left without Nathan in this mess, dragged on me.

"Abby!"

Someone grabbed me, yanking me out of the way. At first, I thought it was Justin–but it took me a second to process that this guy was older. Knuckles. It was the first time I’d noticed their resemblance, but now it seemed clear as day.

“Get down!” he shouted.

The urgency in Knuckles' voice snapped me back into reality. I felt his hand clamp down on my arm, yanking me away from the path of a speeding bullet that had just missed its mark. Instinctively, I ducked, my heart slamming against my rib cage as I realized just how close I'd come to being another casualty.

“Kenny’s men are out for our heads,” he muttered. “We need to get out of here.”

“But Nathan–”

“You must have crashed for a bit, because that truck drove off maybe twenty minutes ago,” Knuckles muttered. “We’ve been fighting the Serpents ever since–and now we need to fucking run.”

Knuckles didn't let go of me, his grip an anchor in the chaos. I stumbled after him, my mind reeling but my feet moving purely on survival instinct.

"We have to get Nathan," I gasped once we were out of immediate danger, the adrenaline making my thoughts jumbled and frantic. I needed to get him out.

"We will. This didn’t work, but it doesn’t mean we won’t try again," Knuckles said, his voice steady despite the pandemonium we'd left behind. He didn't hesitate as he led me away from the highway, into the redwoods, each turn taking us further from the nightmare we'd left behind.

We’d failed.

I’d lost Nathan again…without even touching him.

"Here," he said abruptly, stopping beside a sedan that was as forgettable as any other car parked on the street. It was a vehicle meant to be overlooked, and in that moment, I envied its ability to blend into the background.

I slid into the passenger seat mechanically, my muscles moving from memory rather than conscious thought.

"Knuckles, I'm in a shitton of trouble," I whispered, gripping the edges of the seat.

He glanced at me, his expression unreadable, as he started the engine. "What the hell does that mean?"

"I just shot an FBI agent." My voice broke on the last word, the gravity of my confession settling in my stomach like lead. I had crossed a line, and there was no erasing it.

For a long second, Knuckles said nothing, and the silence stretched between us, heavy with the weight of my admission.

Then, out of the silence, Knuckles let out a short, hollow laugh, one that sounded more like a scoff than anything resembling amusement. It didn't reach his eyes. "Abby, you were already in a shitton of trouble," he said, his words laced with an irony that felt like a slap to my already raw nerves. “You said it yourself; you left that life behind.”

I wanted to argue, to defend myself, but a wave of nausea hit me instead. My hand flew to my stomach, clutching the fabric of my shirt as if it could somehow anchor me and keep the sickness at bay.

“You good?” he asked.

“I’m pregnant and I just killed about four people,” I muttered. “Being ‘good’ is relative.”

The car lurched forward as Knuckles navigated into the night, every mile put between us and the scene of my crime.

Further away from Nathan.

"Where are we going?" I managed to ask.

"Somewhere safe," Knuckles replied tersely, his attention fixed on the road ahead.

"Is anywhere even safe?" The question slipped out, a whisper of doubt that perhaps there was no refuge left for someone like me.

"Maybe not," he admitted. But then he added, "But I'll be damned if I let them catch us without a fight."

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