49. Chapter Forty-Nine Abby

Chapter Forty-Nine: Abby

I paced near the window, darting glances between the glass and the two figures huddled on the couch. The morning sun had just begun to dust the city with a golden sheen, but there was no warmth in it for us.

Because I had a hell of a lot of explaining to do.

"I think we might need to get out of here," I said, my voice steady despite the thudding in my chest. "It won't be long now before they come looking for you."

Justin's eyes, dark mirrors of his Nathan's, were wide and filled with an ocean of fear, his fingers idly stroking his cat's fur. Derek, his arm wrapped protectively around Justin's shoulders, seemed like he wanted to say something comforting, but the words wouldn't come. Instead, his gaze flickered to me, silent pleas etched into his features.

"What do you mean?" Justin asked. "Who's looking for me?"

I'd already told them bits and pieces–purely what was necessary–but I didn't think I was the right person to deliver the rest of this news. Unfortunately it was becoming very clear that Justin needed more info, and he was too smart to let it lie.

I turned toward him, staying near the window as I anxiously tapped my foot, ready to flee at a moment's notice.

"I um…I spoke with your mother last night. She told me some things."

"Like what?" Justin shook his head. "Abby…please, just tell me. I swear I can handle it, no matter what Nathan says."

"Okay," I said quietly. "Your dad…it was about your dad. He isn't who you think he is."

"I know exactly who my father is," Justin spat. "A fucking monster."

"Not like that," I murmured. "You're not Kenny Zhou's son."

Justin frowned. "I'm pretty sure I am–"

"Your mother told me she had an affair when Kenny was in Hong Kong while you were kids," I go on. "She told me Knuckles is your father."

Justin visibly shook, a shudder running through him. Derek held him tight, his hand moving in gentle circles across Justin's back. "I…I don't understand."

"We can keep talking about it, I'm sure Nathan needs to discuss it as well," I said. Each syllable felt like a bullet, heavy and lethal. "But the bottom line is that I think Kenny found out, based on what Nathan said before he left. That's why your mother is in danger…and why we think you might be too."

Justin's breath hitched, and tears spilled over, carving clear paths down his cheeks. His voice cracked as he clutched at Derek, "Is my mom gonna be okay?"

I sighed, pressing my lips into a thin line. "I don't know, Justin. We just have to wait for Nathan. He'll fix this."

But even as I spoke, doubt settled like a lead weight in the pit of my stomach. Even Nathan might not be enough to stop Kenny Zhou…to stop whatever was coming to us.

"It's going to be okay," Derek was whispering, his voice soothing. "We're going to get through this."

I stood rigid by the window, my gaze fixed on the scene unfolding beyond the blinds. Justin and Derek huddled on the couch, their breaths shallow echoes of my own racing pulse. The morning sun cast a golden glow over the street, but the light couldn't reach the cold dread that had settled over all three of us.

"Go and pack a bag," I suddenly said. "We're leaving."

"But…where will we go?" Justin asked. "We can't just leave–we have Bao and all our stuff…"

"Nathan has a place," I said. "You can bring Bao. Nathan can complain about the cat hair later."

At first, I'd thought maybe we should go back to Nathan's house, since I knew it was secure and he'd given me the code to his panic room a couple weeks ago. But I had a better idea now: 118 California, where Nathan had kept me under lock and key.

Nobody knew about it.

Not even Kenny Zhou.

"I'll go get the cat carrier," Derek said, lifting Bao as he stood. "Should we–"

He paused at the crunching sound of tires grinding against the gravel of their parking lot, too close for comfort. My fingers twitched involuntarily towards the gun holstered at my side. With caution, I parted the blinds just enough to peer through without being seen.

Outside, two black sedans rolled to a stop at the curb across the street. Those weren't FBI cars and they sure as hell weren't FBI agents.

Their ominous presence sent a shiver up my spine—not from fear, but from anticipation. This was it; Kenny's move in this deadly game of cat and mouse. Which meant it was fucking showtime.

My heart pounded against my ribcage like it was trying to break free, but my training kicked in. Focus. Observe. Plan. Execute. Every lesson I learned at Quantico, every scenario I'd rehearsed, crystallized into sharp focus. Justin's life depended on it. Our lives depended on it.

"Triad," I breathed, barely audible. "Your dad–I mean, Kenny's. He knows."

Justin's already pale face blanched further, his eyes widening in terror. I could see the realization dawn on him—the gravity of his father's betrayal, the depth of the danger he was in. Kenny had made his play, and we were squarely in the crosshairs.

"Time's up," I growled, my voice urgent and commanding. "We need to move. Now." My steel gaze locked onto Justin and Derek, who shared the same look of fear in their eyes.

"Is there another way out?" I demanded.

"The back patio," Justin replied, his voice shaking with terror. "But it's a ten-foot drop."

"It doesn't matter," I snapped, my determination unshakable. "We have to go now."

Footsteps on the walkway outside…then a loud bang bang bang as they knocked.

"Move," I hissed.

Derek was already at the closet door, easing the cat into a backpack carrier as Justin moved toward a patio door at the other end of the hallway. I watched them, my eyes flicking back to the door as another knock came, louder this time.

"Go to the car, quickly and quietly," I instructed, my gun pointing towards the open door. "I'll be right behind you."

I could feel the weight of my responsibility for their safety as I watched them climb over the edge and disappear into the dim light of dawn. For a moment, I allowed myself to hope that they would make it out safely.

But there was no time for second guessing. The sound of another knock, impatient and aggressive, pierced through my thoughts. We both knew what was waiting for us on the other side: death, disguised as men who would stop at nothing to fulfill Kenny's orders.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

I told myself to calm down. I needed to keep cool, I couldn't panic. I backed up, edging toward the hallway, my ears straining for any sound that would signal Justin and Derek's successful escape. Another knock rapped ominously on the door, but it wasn't just a knock—it was a warning of what was to come. My finger caressed the trigger of my gun, the safety now off, my stance wide and ready.

"Abby, you've got this," I murmured to myself, channeling every ounce of training I had received at Quantico. This was just another day at the shooting range, moving targets that each needed a bullet to the chest. "Stay calm, stay focused, and remember your training."

The wood of the door groaned under the force of heavy boots kicking against it. Adrenaline surged through me like fire in my veins.

"Come on, Abby, breathe," I heard myself say the words but I didn't remember choosing to say them. I took a deep breath.

In.

Out.

Ready.

A gunshot tore through the silence, shattering the lock and sending splinters flying like lethal rain. I didn't flinch; I couldn't afford to. This was no different than marksman training—aim for center mass, squeeze, don't pull.

"Here we go," I breathed out, shifting my weight onto the balls of my feet. My heart pounded against my ribcage, not with fear, but with the readiness of a predator waiting to strike. They thought they were hunting Justin, but they didn't know I was here…and that was our ace in the hole. I was no easy prey, especially not in this den where I was the one who set the rules.

The door burst open with a violent crash, revealing the silhouette of the first man, a harbinger of the chaos that was about to unfold. Instinct took over; my finger tightened on the trigger as I locked eyes with him—a split second where he saw his end in my gaze.

"Sorry, not your day," I muttered, the words lost in the echo of the gunshot.

His body jerked back, a perfect shot to the chest. He crumpled like a marionette with its strings cut, becoming an obstacle for the others as they stumbled over him–and the splash of blood proved to me that they hadn't come in bulletproof vests, which was good.

They were well-trained, I had to give them that, but panic was a great equalizer.

I didn't stop to admire my handiwork. Another shot rang out, the recoil familiar and comforting against my palm. The second man howled, clutching his shoulder, his gun clattering to the floor.

"Two down," I whispered, confirming the effectiveness of the countless hours spent at the firing range. No time for celebrations, though. This wasn't some action movie; this was life and death—hopefully theirs.

I darted a glance backward, making sure Derek and Justin had taken their chance to escape. The patio door hung open, swaying gently in the morning breeze, a testament to their departure.

Good. They were clear.

But in the underworld, a moment's distraction could cost you your life.

As I turned back, the third assailant lunged at me. His movements were desperate, frenzied, fueled by the raw survival instinct of a cornered animal. But I was ready.

At least that was what I thought.

The hardwood floor sent my breath rushing out as I hit the ground, the man's weight momentarily pinning me. Instinct kicked in; the training that had been drilled into me since I was a kid surfaced with lethal precision. I twisted beneath him, a wild dance of survival. My fingers found the cold metal of his gun, and with a swift wrench, it was mine.

I had survived a fucking knife fight with the Serpent's Fang.

I would survive this.

I rose to my feet just as the third man came at me again, all fury and frustration. His knife glinted wickedly in the morning light, its sharpness promising pain. He swung wildly, a man desperate to land a blow, but desperation was sloppy. I dodged, feeling the whisper of the blade as it passed.

The sting would have made me wince, but the adrenaline kept me on my feet.

I lunged forward, driving the stolen gun into his gut. The shot echoed in the confined space, a brutal punctuation to our deadly encounter.

He staggered back, disbelief etched on his face. But there was no time for his shock—or mine. Pain exploded in my side, hot and searing. I glanced down, saw the red blossoming across my shirt, and felt the wet warmth spreading.

Fuck. He'd gotten me.

But I was still on my feet and I was going to go down fighting.

I fired again, two more shots ringing out, one for each of the men who had tried to take me down. They crumpled to the floor, their threats extinguished.

"Sorry, boys," I breathed out, standing over them. "You picked the wrong girl."

With adrenaline surging through my veins, I ignored the pain stabbing my side and sprinted toward the front door. I burst out into the cool morning air, the chaos of the fight behind me now just a memory etched in blood and gunpowder. Ahead, freedom beckoned, along with the urgent need to survive.

"Fuck, that hurts," I hissed, pressing a hand to the wound in an attempt to stem the flow of blood. The world was a blur of motion and sound as I made my escape, each step fueled by a single, unyielding thought: Survive.

The roar of an engine cut through the morning stillness as Justin's car skidded to a halt beside me, the back door flung open in a silent invitation. I didn't hesitate, hurling myself into the backseat beside the now confined and yowling Bao. The leather seats were cool against my heated skin as I pressed my hand harder against the wound, trying to staunch the bleeding.

"Drive!" I screamed at Justin, the urgency in my voice unmistakable.

Justin's eyes met mine in the rearview mirror, wide with alarm. "Where to?" he asked, throwing the car into gear even as he spoke, wheels screeching in protest.

"Hospital," Derek chimed in from the passenger seat, his voice edged with fear for me.

Justin shook his head, the movement sharp and resolute. "No way. My father's men could be anywhere."

Panic and pain warred within me, but clarity won out. "I know a place—118 California, in South Beach," I managed to say between gritted teeth. They didn't need to know the significance of the address, didn't need to know it was where Nathan had first kept me captive. That secret would stay locked down, just like the others.

My trembling fingers fished out my phone, and I dialed Nathan's number, each ring echoing in the tense silence of the car.

I needed him to answer. I needed to know that he was alive…because if he was, I would get him.

And I would fight for him until I wasn't able to fight anymore.