1. Chapter One Abby

Chapter One: Abby

M y cover was blown. And Nathan Zhou was going to kill me.

My heart jackhammered in my chest. My gaze couldn't decide between Tyler's lifeless form and Nathan—my captor, my feigned lover—who stood swathed in the morning light that did nothing to soften the harsh lines of his face. His eyes were now cold black pits of fury.

"Is it true?" he asked, voice so level it chilled my blood. I said nothing, confirming his worst fears without uttering a single word.

He straightened his back, the dragon tattoo on his pec writhing like a living thing with his every breath.

My mind raced. The butcher knife in my hand was solid, real, unlike the shaky ground I found myself on. Logic dictated that Nathan could overpower me with ease; memories of past captures, of bruises and threats, played vividly in my mind. But my dad had taught me to be tough, to fight back, not to cower before any man…and I didn't have to pretend I was just an innocent girl any longer.

I was a fighter, and Nathan was about to find out.

Nathan advanced, each step a silent promise of retribution. I had to move. Now.

I bolted. My sprint toward the stairs was not toward escape but survival. The gun—Tyler's gun—was out of reach, a deadly prize guarded by a more deadly obstacle. I couldn't get through Nathan, not without revealing my intent. So I ran for higher ground, hoping against all odds that I could find a temporary haven.

His footsteps thundered behind me, a relentless pursuit that promised pain. But I was Abby Harper, trained and resourceful, and if I was going down, it wasn't without a hell of a fight.

Hope flickered like a faulty bulb as I imagined the click of the bathroom lock, the barrier between life and the abyss. But Nathan was taller, faster.

His hand shot out, fingers entwining in my hair with the force of a vise. A yank that rooted deep in my scalp, an agony that blurred my vision, and I was airborne. Time slowed to a crawl as he propelled me over the railing. The living room floor rushed up to greet me, and I braced for impact.

I hit the ground, breath fleeing my lungs in a whoosh that left me gasping. My body protested, but my training took over; I scrambled to my feet, a wild mix of fear and adrenaline fueling my movements.

"Sorry," I gasped out, "it's not what you think!"

It really wasn't–or maybe it was. But fuck, it wasn't like he was giving me a chance to explain.

My plea bounced off him like bullets on armor. He was a storm personified, his fury a maelstrom that sought to drag me under.

Nathan loomed over me, dark eyes tunneling through my defenses. He held his own knife now–the one he'd use to kill my partner–and its edge glinting with a silent promise of pain. Every sense screamed at me to move, and I did, rolling just as the blade sliced the air where I'd been seconds before.

"Listen to me!" I cried, even as I dodged another swipe. Heart racing, I knew apologies were useless against this tide of wrath. Nathan wouldn't stop—not until one of us lay bleeding at the other's feet.

"Listen?" Nathan's voice was a low growl, the kind that sent shivers through my spine despite the terror rattling my bones. "You've been lying to me from day one, Abby. There's nothing left to listen to."

I barely dodged another strike, his knife leaving a whisper of a cut across my arm. The sting was sharp, but it paled compared to the ache in my chest. He thought I'd betrayed him, and maybe I had—but not in the way he believed.

My adrenaline surged, lending me strength I didn't know I possessed. My hand found the butcher knife I'd dropped during our initial scuffle, its handle slick against my sweaty palm. I gripped it tightly, ready to defend myself at any cost.

"Seriously, Nathan! It's not like that!" My own fury boiled up, matching his.

I had to survive this. We could talk about it then. We could talk about how it had become real…

Nathan lunged again, and this time, my counter wasn't born of luck. I parried with the knife, a move drilled into me by my father on long afternoons back home. His lessons had always felt abstract, theoretical—I'd never imagined facing off against a man I couldn't bring myself to hate completely.

"You're a fucking traitor, Abby!" He spat out my name as if it were venom. We clashed again, the knives echoing through his lavish living room. I could see the conflict in his eyes, the betrayal warring with something that looked suspiciously like hurt.

"Stop this! You have to believe me!" I pleaded, even as I tried to stab at him. But Nathan moved with a grace that felt strange for someone his size, avoiding the blade with ease. I pushed, and he pulled, he pulled and I pushed, until we were both exhausted.

A realization dawned on me then, stark and cold—I wouldn't win this fight with brute force. Nathan had size and strength on his side. But I had wits—and desperation.

With a feigned stumble, I shifted direction. A quick glance confirmed Tyler's lifeless form nearby, the gun still within reach. If I could just—

"Where do you think you're going?" Nathan's words were clipped, his movements shadowing mine with relentless precision.

"Somewhere you can't follow," I shot back, my tone brimming with bravado I didn't feel.

But my focus never wavered from my goal. With each breathless moment, I edged closer to salvation—or doom.

Tyler's gun.

"Stop!" he roared, his voice filling the room like thunder.

I didn't bother responding, focusing on survival instead. My fingers reached out wildly, grabbing anything they could—a vase, a lamp, books—and I hurled them behind me in a frantic attempt to slow him down. It bought me precious seconds, enough to glance at Tyler's lifeless form sprawled on the floor. The gun was just an arm's length away from his cold hand.

"Give up, Abby! It's over!" Nathan closed the gap with alarming speed.

But I wasn't giving up—not yet. With a burst of energy fueled by pure instinct, I lunged for the gun. Almost there...

"Gotcha!" Nathan's muscular forearm collided with my midsection with the force of a battering ram. Air whooshed from my lungs as I was sent hurtling backwards, my body crashing painfully against the hard floor.

The world spun momentarily, and I tasted copper. Pain flared through my skull where it had slammed into the polished wood. For a split second, everything went black, and then the pain sharpened my senses, pulling me back to reality.

Through a haze, I saw Nathan looming above me, his brown eyes—usually as calm as still water—now swirling with fury and something else...something dangerously close to excitement.

No time to read him.

The realization hit me then; I hadn't dropped the knife. My fingers clenched around the handle of the butcher knife like a lifeline, its familiar weight grounding me amidst chaos. I somehow managed to stand up again, facing off with the man I loved and hated and feared all at once.

"Come on, Abby," he said, his voice surprisingly quiet. "Don't make me do this."

Nathan lunged.

Instinct overrode fear as I twisted my body, the blade in my hand arcing through the air. It connected with his arm, slicing through his skin with a sickening sound. His reaction was immediate—a sharp intake of breath, a step back, dark eyes wide with shock and pain as crimson blood dripped to the floor.

"Fuck!" he roared, more in surprise than anger.

I didn't wait for him to recover. Using the distraction, I tried to sidestep away, desperate for some distance between us. But Nathan was a force of nature—quick despite his size, and just as driven as I was.

He tackled me, body pressed to mine in a dark reflection of how we'd woken up this morning, entangled. We grappled with each other, my voice coming out more of a rage-filled shriek than a fearful scream–and I knew then that he was finding out very quickly who I really was. He wanted to kill me, he would kill me…

…but he didn't.

He hesitated, just for a fraction of a second. That was all I needed. Adrenaline lent me strength as, with a twist and a shove, I managed to roll Nathan off me and reverse our positions. Now on top, I grabbed the fallen knife from the floor, my breath coming in sharp gasps as I pressed the sharp edge to his throat.

"Move, and I'll do more than nick your arm," I warned.

A bead of blood welled up where the blade met skin…and it hurt me just as much as it hurt him, I thought. I didn't want to hurt him, didn't want to kill him.

At this point, I was on his side, not the FBI's.

Nathan's muscles tensed beneath me—a coiled spring ready to unleash its power. But he was smart enough to know that any sudden movement would spell his end. His eyes, once filled with fury, now held a glint of begrudging respect.

"Go ahead then, Special Agent Harper," he ground out. "Arrest me. Kill me. You'd be doing the world a favor."

My grip on the knife tightened as I leaned closer, feeling his ragged breaths against my face. The words came out cold and hard. "I should. I really should. No one would blame me. Hell, they'd probably throw a damn parade in my honor."

That's when I saw it—the flicker in Nathan's gaze, the subtle shift in his energy. It wasn't fear. It wasn't anger. It was…arousal, dark and primal.

A shock ran through me, and I couldn't help but lean down even closer, close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body. We were still barely dressed–me in my robe and panties, Nathan in nothing but thin grey sweats. I moved my hips, just an inch, and I could feel his cock twitch to attention.

I couldn't believe it.

Not even as I whispered, "Holy fuck…this is turning you on, isn't it?"