48. Chapter Forty-Eight Nathan

Chapter Forty-Eight: Nathan

T he engine roared beneath me, a wild beast I barely kept in check. My hands gripped the steering wheel, knuckles white as bone as the houses blurred past my fevered gaze. This was madness; every logical sinew in my body screamed it, yet here I was, barreling towards what could very well be my own end.

Ma wouldn't be fed to the wolves—not if I had anything to say about it.

At a solitary red light, the only one I didn't run in an effort to get to her faster, I snatched those precious seconds. My fingers fumbled with the glove compartment, popping it open to reveal the steel nestled within: a loaded gun, its weight a grim reassurance. I shut the compartment just as the green light gave me leave, and I was off again, racing against fate.

The Zhou residence loomed into view, grandeur tainted by the fleet of black SUVs that infested the driveway like carrion birds. Ba's backup—his personal legion of shadows, those mysterious guards he'd had stationed all around the den last time I'd been there. He had prepared for this, brought in outsiders with no allegiance to me or my mother…and now he'd chosen to act.

I didn't know if it was because of my mother's dinner with Abby; I didn't know if he'd been listening in, or if he'd figured this out on his own.

All I knew was that my mother was in danger, and I had to save her.

I parked across the street, my heart thudding against my ribs, threatening to break free. Sweat slicked my palms as I released the wheel. I had to keep it together, had to prepare my words, sharpen them into weapons to wield against the serpent's wrath. The gun was only a backup, but I knew it would be practically useless against my father's men.

"Ma," I whispered to myself, a mantra to steady my unraveling nerves. "Hang on."

I stepped out of my car, the chill morning air biting at my face, a stark reminder of the reality I was about to confront. Crossing the street felt like wading through molasses, each step heavier than the last. I needed Abby, her strength, her light in this encroaching darkness. But she wasn't here—it was just me, walking into the lion's den, armed with nothing but desperate hope that love still held some sway over the blood-drenched bonds of family.

The man in the black suit at the door didn't flinch as I approached, his expression unreadable behind dark sunglasses despite the overcast sky. He was a sentinel, a well-dressed omen of the chaos that lay beyond those familiar walls. He didn't make any effort to stop me…which meant Ba felt perfectly safe.

Inside, more suits loomed like shadows come to life, their silent presence a suffocating blanket over the house I grew up in. It was like walking through a wake—and as far as I knew, it was. Ma could already be dead, and I could be right on her heels if things went south.

I brushed past the guards, each step deliberate, trying not to let my unease show. They let me pass unchallenged, confirming that Ba knew I was coming, that this was all just another sick game for him. The library door was ajar, its usual warmth now a cold gateway to hell. I hesitated only for a moment before pushing it open, revealing the secret room beyond, its door gaping ominously.

"Ba," I whispered under my breath, the title now tasting like poison on my tongue.

That man…he wasn't really my father.

He never had been.

I stepped through, my eyes adjusting to the dimness, my ears straining for sounds of life or...the other thing. The staircase leading down was revealed, the stark overhead light doing nothing to warm the dread that settled in my bones. And there it was—the blood. It smeared the steps in rusty streaks, a macabre sign of struggle and pain. My stomach lurched, and I fought to keep down the bile rising in my throat.

"Ma," I choked out, my voice barely a thread of sound.

Descending felt like moving through water, each step heavy and slow. Memories of my mother flashed behind my eyes—laughter, scoldings, hugs. Now, all that remained was the stench of iron and fear, clawing at my senses, dragging me back to the present nightmare.

The darkness seemed to press closer with every step, eager to swallow me whole, to snuff out the flickering flame of hope that somehow, someway, this could end with us walking out together. But deep down, I knew better.

There was no escaping this—not without scars, not without loss.

The basement loomed before me, swallowing the last vestiges of light as I emerged from the staircase. Four men stood like statues of indifference at the edges of the room, their faces devoid of emotion, their eyes fixed on some distant point beyond the walls of this hell. At the center of the room, my father, the Serpent, paced with a restless energy that belied the calm facade he presented to the outside world. The sound of his footsteps echoed against the concrete—a hollow, rhythmic reminder of the heartbeats that thumped violently in my chest.

And there, beyond his agitated shadow, was my mother.

She was bound to a chair that seemed too frail to contain the magnitude of her spirit, even now, beaten and bruised. Her face was swollen, colors blooming across her skin in sickening shades of purple and yellow. But she wasn't crying. The tears had dried up, leaving behind a resolve that cut through the despair. When our eyes met, it took everything within me not to collapse under the weight of sorrow and rage.

"Ma," I managed to say, my voice steadier than I felt.

Ba looked up then, his smile a grotesque twist of lips and teeth. His lip was split, crimson staining his chin like a badge of dishonor, and his nose—crooked, a testament to the fight my mother had given.

A flicker of pride sparked within me, brief but fierce. She hadn't gone down without a fight.

But neither had Sun Mengyao…and we had all watched as she'd taken her last, blood-choked breath.

My fingers twitched toward the knife strapped to my hip—the one Ba had given me for the purpose of killing Alex, its blade sharp and unforgiving. On my other side, my gun nestled reassuringly against my thigh. It would be so easy to reach for either weapon, to end this madness with a pull of a trigger or a slice of steel.

But no. Not yet.

His men would kill me before I could even make sure he was dead.

"Ba," I said quietly, forcing neutrality into my tone. "What's going on?"

The men didn't react, their gazes empty as ever, like sentinels guarding the gates to perdition. Kenny's smile widened, and in his eyes, I saw the abyss staring back at me.

"Ah, Nathan," he said, his voice smooth as silk. "I'm glad you're here. We have...business to attend to."

"Business," I echoed, each word a boulder in my throat.

My eyes flickered to Ma, her once-gentle face now swollen and marred, her spirit dimming in the shadow of his looming figure. Ba had called her the cornerstone of our family; now she sat, desecrated and discarded like refuse.

"Ma," I whispered, pain knotting my chest.

Ba's gaze never wavered from mine, cold and calculating. "You know why you're here, Nathan. You must have figured it out by now."

"Figured what out?" I demanded, though deep down, I knew the shape of this twisted narrative. This was not just punishment—it was a message, a warning sculpted in flesh and blood.

"Your mother," Kenny spat the words like venom, "the lying whore, needs to be judged. Punished." His voice sliced through the dank air of the basement, chilling me to the bone.

My hands clenched into fists at my sides so hard my short nails drew blood. This was the precipice, the moment before the plunge. The serpent had shed any pretense of paternal care, revealing the full horror of his nature.

"Judged by who? By you?" I challenged, my voice barely containing the fury that threatened to erupt.

"By us all," he replied, gesturing to the silent men around him. "But don't worry, son. You'll play your part too."

The finality in his tone told me everything I needed to know. This was not just a trial; this was an execution.

And I was meant to be the executioner.