Chapter Nine Nathan

Ishould've been used to doing business in these nightclubs, but…things had a way of going wrong in places like this.

The neon blaze of Fusion's sign cut through the evening haze as I stepped out of the black sedan. My leather shoes met the damp pavement with a decisive tap, the sound swallowed by the thrumming bass that bled from the club walls.

I didn't bother to look back at my driver; he knew the drill. Stay close enough for a getaway ride if needed…but to let me enjoy my evening if I didn't call.

Not that I was spending a lot of time enjoying my evenings lately.

Inside, the pulse of electronic beats wrapped around me like a second skin, the air thick with sweat and the sweet tang of spilled liquor. I scanned the crowd, their faces a blur of pleasure and abandon—a stark difference from the stone set of my own expression. This wasn't pleasure. This was business.

I made my way to a private booth shrouded in shadows, where bottle service awaited—crystal glasses and a bottle of the finest scotch, the amber liquid promising a temporary escape I wouldn't take. As the son of the Serpent, indulgence was a distraction I couldn't afford.

"Hope you haven't been waiting long," a smooth British voice cut through the din as Jack Kensington slid into the seat across from me. His tailored suit was a sharp contrast to the casual revelry around us.

"Jack," I nodded, the formality of my tone matching the grip on my glass. "Just got here."

"Good to hear." Jack surveyed the club with disinterest, then turned his attention back to me, fixing me with a gaze as sharp as a knife's edge. "So, what's so urgent that Nathan Zhou himself comes calling? You know it isn't easy to get away from business in San Diego for a little trip like this."

"Let's cut the crap, Jack," I said, leaning forward. The heavy beat of the music became a backdrop to our quieter, more dangerous conversation. "We've got a rat in the ranks. You owe me, and I'm here to collect."

"Someone's undermining the Serpents?" His eyebrow quirked up, betraying interest. "That's a serious accusation."

"Which is why I need serious intel." I met his gaze steadily, my hand unconsciously clenching and unclenching, the smeared ink of a hastily scribbled phone number on my palm a reminder of something—or someone—I tried not to think about.

"Any idea who it might be?" Jack's question pulled me back from the brink of distraction.

"None that solid," I admitted with a tight jaw. "But that's where you come in."

"Of course, Nathan." Jack's smile was all charm, but his eyes held the weight of our world—one built on favors and blood. "Let's see what we can dig up."

The night was young, but in the world I inhabited, darkness held court regardless of the hour. Inside Fusion's VIP area, the music throbbed like a living thing, and I settled into the leather booth that reeked of money and spilled secrets.

"Been ages since I've been to this city," Jack mused, swirling the ice in his glass with a casualness that belied the tension in his shoulders. "And seriously…even if I didn't owe you a favor, you could have called. We're friends, Nate."

"Friends are hard to come by in this business," I muttered. "But…thanks, Jack. I appreciate it. How's San Diego?"

"The old man's putting pressure on me—reckons it's time I found a girl, settled down," he said. "Wants an heir, all that noise."

"Settle down?" I echoed, snorting at the thought. As if men like us could ever truly settle. "My father's been on my case about the same damn thing. But with the way things are shaking out..." I trailed off, a shadow crossing my mind, something I couldn't bother with—not now.

"Too crazy for love, huh?" Jack's lips quirked up in a half-smile, a silent challenge in his eyes. There was no room for softness in our line of work, no space for anything as fragile as romance.

"Something like that," I muttered, taking a sip from the glass in front of me. The burn of the alcohol was familiar, a fleeting distraction from the chaos that brewed beneath the surface of my life.

The bass pulsed through the club like a heartbeat, vibrating against my skin as I lounged back in the booth. Across from me, Jack played with the rim of his glass, the ice cubes clinking—a sound oddly serene amid the cacophony of music and chatter.

"Ever think about it, though?" Jack asked, breaking the lull that had fallen between us. "Having someone to come home to?"

I glanced down at the number scrawled across my palm in faded ink, remembered green eyes and a kind smile. It was a nice fantasy, but Abby didn't belong in my world. Bringing her into it…it would just be cruel. Men in my line of work tended to die young, and their women ended up getting used as collateral more often than not.

"Nah," I said, smudging the digits with my thumb until they were just a blur. "It's nothing."

Jack raised an eyebrow but didn't press further. He knew the drill—the unspoken rules that governed our lives. Attachments were liabilities, and liabilities got you killed.

Shifting in my seat, I leaned forward, elbows on the table, the noise around us fading into a dull roar. It was time to talk shop. "So, let's get down to business. You hear anything about who's hitting the Serpents?"

Jack's eyes narrowed, a calculating glint surfacing as he tapped a finger on the table. "There's some chatter," he said carefully. "But nothing solid yet. You know how these things go."

"No word down in San Diego?"

"Just rumors about what's happening," he said. "Don't take this the wrong way, but people are saying your dad's weak—that maybe he's gone soft. It's not exactly promising when a man can't keep his own house in order, and if the next hit actually happens in Chinatown…"

"I'm well aware of how it looks," I muttered. "At first I thought it was the Cranes or the Ghosts…but I've got nothing on them, they're minding their own business while we fall apart from the inside."

"Yeah?"

I nodded. "My dad thinks the threat is coming from inside—that there's a traitor in our ranks."

Jack blew out a breath. "Fuck, man. Any idea why?"

"The usual suspects—love, money, power," I said. "Beyond that, I have no clues."

He frowned, brow furrowing, and I could see the gears working. Jack was a smart man—always had his ear to the ground when it came to business.

"You know…it could be revenge," he said. "Your dad has always been…well, brutal. You know that better than anyone."

"Right."

"Whatever happened to that restaurant owner? The one your dad tried to pin the deal with the Cranes on?"

"Hughie Lin?"

"Yeah," Jack said. "I feel like I just saw that name came up somewhere, got it off an informant. Shit—yeah, they said someone was running coke through Mandarin Palace, owned by Xinyi Lin."

The name hit me like a sucker punch—a name from a chapter I had closed with bloodstained hands. Sure, my dad had ordered it, but I'd carried out the interrogation and assassination myself. Hughie Lin had begged for his life, promised me he was loyal to the Serpents.

I'd taken off three fingers before I finally got bored and shot him in the head.

My jaw tensed, but I masked the reaction quickly, schooling my features into practiced indifference. "Xinyi Lin?" I echoed, feigning curiosity.

"Yep," he continued, oblivious to the storm he'd stirred within me. "The widow. Wouldn't be surprised if she's got an ax to grind after what happened to her husband."

I remembered her, the quiet dignity in her eyes, even as we delivered a sum of money to her to keep her quiet after her husband's death. She'd had a son a little older than me, who'd tried to tell her they should talk…and we'd almost taken him to.

Those were the kinds of orders that haunted me, whispers of guilt that crept into the silence of my own company.

Yet my voice remained cool, detached. "And you think she's behind the attacks?"

"Could be," Jack shrugged. "She's got motive, and the Serpents did her dirty. You know how it is—hell hath no fury and all that."

"Interesting theory," I said, giving nothing away. "But theories won't protect my family."

"True." Jack nodded, sipping his drink. "But it's a start, isn't it? You'll find the rat, Nathan. And when you do..."

"Justice will be served," I finished for him, the promise etched in stone. My role demanded no less. Justice, vengeance—they were two sides of the same coin in our realm, and I was the hand flipping it.

"Exactly." Jack leaned back, satisfied. "So, what's next?"

"Next, we watch and wait," I replied, the words a mantra for the hunt that lay ahead. "And we keep this between us. No loose ends."

"Always," Jack agreed with a firm nod. "But…I was talking more in the short-term. Drinks?"

Hell, we hadn't even touched the booze.

I let out a short laugh and shook my head as I picked up the bottle, pouring us both glasses. Jack watched me with a discerning gaze, and I wondered if the years we'd spent growing up together in this business had given him more insight into what was going on in my head. I sure as fuck hoped not; it was bloody in there, and more than that, private.

Jack, his face cast in the shifting glow of neon lights that played over the walls of Fusion, regarded me with a scrutinizing gaze.

"Looking a bit rough around the edges, mate," he said, his British-American accent tingeing his words with a hint of concern—or was it just curiosity? "As a friend—not a colleague—I wanted to check in. Been a while."

I let out a breath, my fingers absently tracing the dragon tattoo hidden beneath my shirt. "You know how it is when the family is under attack," I admitted, and for a fleeting moment, my facade cracked—revealing the strain that came with defending an empire.

Jack watched me, his eyes sharp. "Maybe you need a change," he suggested, swirling the amber liquid in his glass.

I couldn't help but look up at him, incredulous. Was he serious? You didn't just leave this life, not when everyone you cared about was on the line. I wasn't a prisoner, not exactly…but sometimes it felt like it.

"Change isn't really in the cards," I replied curtly. No matter what my heart yearned for, the Serpent's call was one I couldn't ignore—not if I wanted to keep those I cared about safe.

"I don't mean getting out of the business," Jack said. "We both know that isn't a possibility. But maybe…I don't know, ease off the beatings and assassinations?"

"What the hell does that mean?"

He shrugged. "You just look more and more like a killer, mate. Fuckin' scary."

"Fine," I added before he could press further, sealing away any hint of vulnerability. "I'm fine."

Jack raised an eyebrow but didn't push. Instead, he raised his glass in a silent toast to the battles ahead, to the unspoken oaths that bound us to this life. The life of shadows and debts paid in blood.

"Fine," he echoed, but the word hung between us, heavy with the things left unsaid.

At least for now, I trusted him. And for now, I would let him live.