Chapter Twelve Nathan

What I really wanted was to keep fucking this woman.

But duty, as always, called.

The bass from the club's music still pounded in my veins as I pushed through the crowd, a lingering haze of desire clouding my senses. Exiting into the cool night, I fought to keep my composure, the image of Abby's curves barely concealed by her glittery dress taunting me. I could have been heading to her place now, ready to bury myself in her tight, clenching heat…

…and instead, I was going to Grant Street Floral to deal with my would-be assassin, if Alex was to believed.

"This had better be damn worth it," I snarled under my breath, sliding into the driver's seat of my black Mercedes.

As the engine roared to life, a subtle vibration in my jacket pocket snapped me out of the reverie. I yanked the phone out, glaring at Alex's name flashing across the screen once again. Without a second thought, I punched the call button and brought the phone to my ear, my grip on the steering wheel tightening until my knuckles turned white.

"Talk to me," I growled, not bothering with pleasantries as I steered the car down the street, the city lights blurring past like ghosts in the night.

"Where the hell have you been?" Alex's voice crackled through the speaker, tinged with impatience that matched my own rising irritation.

"Out." The one-word answer was all he was getting. My mind wasn't on this conversation; it was back in the club, on the way Abby moved, how the air seemed electrified by her touch.

The city blurred into streaks of light and shadow as I gunned the engine, tearing through the streets with a purpose that earlier in the night had been lost to heat and desire. My phone was a live wire against my ear, Alex's voice crackling with urgency on the other end.

"Did I catch you at a bad time?" Alex's snicker twisted through the speaker, pulling me back from the edge where hunger turned to anticipation.

I grunted, dismissing his jab. "It's fine," I lied, knowing full well he could hear the strain in my voice—the remnants of an itch left unscratched.

"Good," Alex said, the smirk evident in his tone. "Because we've got something big."

That caught my attention, the residual fog of lust dissipating like smoke. "What is it?"

"Remember the mess from the other night? We might have just bagged the shooter." The words were casual, but the undercurrent of excitement was unmistakable. Alex lived for this; the game, the chase—it was what made him tick.

"Where?" I pressed, already picturing the scene in my mind.

"We're at the flower shop. Knuckles is here too. We've got the guy tied up and waiting for the Fangs' special touch." His laugh was dark, edged with a cruel satisfaction. "He won't know what hit him."

A humorless smile tugged at my lips. Scaring the hell out of some rat wasn't exactly how I'd planned to spend my night, but then again, plans had a way of unraveling fast in our line of work. I made a sharp turn, the tires screeching their protest, as the shop came into view.

"Stay put," I said, ending the call. It was time to get to work.

I slammed the car door behind me, the thud echoing off the grimy walls of the alley as I strode toward the back entrance of the flower shop. The night was thick with the smell of rot and rain, a stark reminder that not all things could flourish in darkness.

Inside, the familiar sight of orchids greeted me—my secret indulgence—but they weren't what caught my attention. Knuckles and Alex had a guy pinned to a chair under the harsh glare of a single bulb, his face bruised and defiant. It took a moment for recognition to set in, but when it did, my blood ran cold.

Mark Lin.

A face I knew from a long, long time ago…when I'd executed his uncle and payed off his aunt.

"Mark Lin," I muttered, dread pooling in my stomach. Just as Jack had suggested, the Lins were behind this…and now, Xinyi's nephew was here.

Knuckles gave a sharp nod, his eyes narrowing as if to say, ‘We got him now.'

"Is this the shooter from Golden Dragon?" I asked, my voice steady despite the storm brewing inside me.

"Got to be," Alex chimed in, his smirk a dark slash across his face. "Look at him—fucking pissed himself because he knows we've caught him."

"Maybe," I said, knowing full well guilt had many scents, and fear was one of them. I needed the truth, and there was only one way to get it.

I moved past the shelves lined with pots and soil, towards the corner where I kept my tools. My fingers wrapped around the wooden handles of shears and trowels, instruments meant to nurture life now repurposed for a darker cause. There was no pleasure in this, only necessity.

I chose the shears.

"Let's find out who you really work for," I whispered to myself as I turned back to the man. His eyes widened slightly at the sight of the tools in my hands, and I knew then that he understood the kind of pain I could inflict.

"Talk," I demanded, my voice slicing through the tension like the blade of a knife. "Do you work for Xinyi Lin? Did she send you to pull the trigger?"

The room filled with a palpable dread, and even the orchids seemed to hold their breath, waiting for his answer. The guy tied to the chair, Mark Lin, was tough–tougher than most–his dark eyes defiant, darting between Knuckles and Alex, silently pleading for mercy where there was none to give.

"You wouldn't believe me even if I told you," he muttered. "Give me the same kind of mercy you gave my uncle? Fuck you, Fangs—"

In one swift movement, I moved the shears—and his pinkie finger fell to the floor, blood spurting. My lip curled at the spray of red blood across the floor of the room, a room I'd always kept as a retreat from this violence.

Fucking Alex had to ruin this place.

"Shut him up," I muttered, and Knuckles went around behind Mark to gag him with a dirty rag as tears poured down his cheeks from wide, bloodshot eyes. He couldn't look away from his mangled hand, until I came closer again…then he looked really fucking scared.

I knelt, reaching forward to wipe my shears against his jeans. "Hurts, doesn't it? And you've got nine more…then I can move on to your toes, if you haven't given me what I want. We could be here all night, and the cops wouldn't dare step foot this deep in our territory."

Mark was sobbing now, and I looked him in the eye.

"Last chance," I said, my voice echoing off the concrete walls of the flower shop's back room. "Did Xinyi send you?"

Knuckles removed the gag, and Mark took a shuddering breath…

…then spat on my fucking shoe.

"Wrong answer."

I snipped the pinkie on his other hand with the shears, and Knuckles gagged him again when he howled.

"I don't know what the hell your aunt is playing at," I muttered. "But my family rules the Serpents—and there's no fucking way you're getting away with this. If you give me the names of the people in charge, I can let you live, but otherwise…well, you know what happens to those who threaten me, and I'm pretty sure your finger was on the trigger the other night. So what'll it be, Mark?"

Knuckles took out the gag one last time and Mark sneered.

"Go to hell," he hissed through gritted teeth.

"Been there," I quipped, "they kicked me out."

I moved toward him with the shears again—but something was wrong—and I noticed too late that his wrists were free. He lunged all of a sudden, rushing from his seat.

Not toward the door…toward me.

"Damn it!" Alex cursed, stepping back, his hand reaching for his gun.

Mark was on me before I could tighten my grip on the shears, his desperation giving him the strength of a cornered beast. His hands reached for my throat, eyes wild with the need to survive. I grappled with him, feeling the weight of his body and the heat of his breath.

"Knuckles!" I shouted, struggling under Mark's assault. He was all flailing limbs and raw survival instinct, but he'd underestimated one thing—my crew's loyalty.

The sound split the air, a definitive crack that echoed off the walls of the flower shop's back room. The weight on me vanished as if it had never been there at all. I looked up just in time to see Mark's lifeless form crumple to the floor, a clean bullet hole between his eyes.

"Damn it, Knuckles!" Alex's voice was a mixture of rage and disbelief. "What the hell?"

I pushed myself up, brushing dust from my clothes. Blood pooled beneath the dead man's head, seeping through the cracks in the concrete floor. I felt more than saw Knuckles standing there, gun still raised, the barrel smoking like a chimney on a cold winter's night.

"My job is to protect you two," he said flatly, meeting my gaze. There was no regret in those brown eyes, just the unwavering resolve of a man who knew the rules of our world. "Your father would have my head if I let something happen to either one of you."

"Protect? We needed him to talk, not to take a damn dirt nap!" Alex's fists clenched at his sides, his anger palpable enough to spark flames.

"Enough," I growled, my own temper simmering beneath the surface. "This mess isn't going to clean itself up."

I walked over to the body, avoiding the growing pool of blood. My mind raced; this wasn't just any guy—it was Xinyi Lin's nephew. It was likely Xinyi was already gunning for us, and now she would be out for blood.

Plus, I couldn't pin anything on her. Mark was a gangbanger…not a firm lead.

I'd left Abby behind for this.

"Get out of here. Both of you." I didn't look at them, my focus on the corpse. "I'll handle this."

"Come on, Alex," Knuckles said, holstering his weapon. "Let Fangs do his thing."

But I could feel Alex's stare, hot and heavy on my back. He lingered, perhaps wanting to challenge me, or maybe just to vent his frustration. In the end, he followed Knuckles without another word. The door swung shut behind them, leaving me alone with the dead man and the scent of fresh blood mingling with the earthy fragrance of potted orchids.

"Looks like it's just you and me now," I muttered to the silent figure on the floor. I wasn't sure if I was talking to him or myself. But as I started rolling the body onto a tarp, I knew that this was yet another dark turn in the already twisted path I walked—a path lined with secrets, betrayal, and a love for things that grew in darkness.

And that's when I started to work.