Chapter Eighteen Nathan

Ineeded to assert myself…to show that I was still in control.

Which is why I had to confront Xinyi Lin directly.

I pushed through the heavy doors of Mandarin Palace like I was storming a fortress. Alex's words still burned in my head, his voice dripping with disdain as he questioned my loyalty, my strength. The need to prove myself gnawed at me, twisting my insides until I could almost hear my father's silent call to action, feel the weight of his expectations pressing down on me. My hand instinctively went to my side where the dragon tattoo lay hidden under my shirt, its scales a reminder of the bloodline I carried and the power I wielded.

"Table for one," I grunted to the hostess, who eyed me warily but nodded, accustomed to the kind of clientele that my presence represented.

"Of course, Mr. Zhou. This way, please."

I followed her to a secluded corner of the restaurant. The air was thick with the scents of spices and sizzling meat, reminding me of my mother's kitchen…and making me feel like even more of a monster for what I was about to do. As I sat, the red and gold decor around me seemed to mock the simplicity I craved, the life I could have led had my path not been paved by my father's ambitions.

Sometimes, though, I had to let the monster win.

My fangs were bared tonight.

"Would you like to start with something to drink?" the waiter asked, materializing beside my table with an elegance that belied the tension I felt.

"Tea," I said curtly, barely glancing at the menu. "And I want to see Mrs. Lin."

"Mrs. Lin is quite busy, sir. Perhaps if you tell me what this is regarding..."

"Tell her Nathan Zhou wants a word. She'll find the time."

The waiter nodded, a flash of unease crossing his face before he turned to carry out my request. I leaned back, trying to appear casual, but my heart hammered against my ribs like it wanted out. With every second that ticked by, my impatience grew. Alex's jabs had done their work; they'd gotten under my skin, made me reckless.

But then, that was always Alex's gift. He could find the cracks in anyone's armor and pry them wide open with just a few calculated words. It wasn't envy that ate at him—it was strategy. And I had to stay one step ahead, even if it meant confronting old Mrs. Lin in her own den.

The tea arrived, a delicate floral aroma rising from the steaming cup. I didn't touch it. My focus was on the kitchen door where I expected Xinyi Lin to emerge at any moment.

Instead, a shadow fell over my table—a bigger, bulkier form.

Andrew fucking Lin.

He was Xinyi's son, a former Serpent bruiser who'd left our organization to run the restaurant after we'd murdered his father. He had height and weight on me—but he didn't pose a threat.

He may have thought he did, though…which was more dangerous for him than it was for me.

"Didn't expect to see you here," came a voice thick with barely suppressed rage.

I looked up into his scowling face, his eyes dark pools of disapproval. He was a tall man, built like a fighter, taking up space.

"Andrew," I greeted, my voice flat. "Where's your mother?"

"Handling actual business," he sneered, leaning over the table and spreading his hands—maybe to show me just how big he was. I didn't give a fuck. "You're not welcome here, Nathan. This place is for paying customers, not for thugs who want to throw their weight around."

His voice was loud, meant to carry, meant to humiliate. It rippled through the Mandarin Palace, turning heads. But I wasn't some green kid easily cowed by raised voices or big talk.

"Sit down, Andrew." My words were ice against the heat of his temper. "We wouldn't want to cause a scene now, would we?"

He laughed, a harsh sound devoid of humor. "A scene? You think I give a damn about a scene? It's you who should be worried about making one. You know what happens to people who disrespect this place."

"Is that a threat?" I asked, leaning forward, my gaze never leaving his.

"Take it as a word of caution."

"Your words are wind, Andrew," I said, meeting his challenge. "But since we're both men of action, why don't we cut through the bluster? Sit, or leave. I have questions, and I will get answers, with or without your help."

For a moment, tension crackled between us like a live wire. Then, slowly, Andrew pulled out the chair and sat down, the legs scraping audibly against the floor. His jaw was set, his body language screaming that this was his turf, and I was treading dangerous ground.

"Talk," he demanded, though the control of the conversation had already slipped through his fingers. "And make it quick."

"Always in a rush," I observed, picking up the teacup and finally taking a slow sip. It was a small act of defiance—a signal that I would not be rushed, not on his terms. The tea warmed my throat, but it did nothing to quell the fire of the impending confrontation.

"Are your people behind the attacks on Serpents' territory?" I asked directly, setting the teacup down with a gentle clink. My eyes locked onto his, searching for that flicker of truth or the shadow of a lie.

Andrew's brow furrowed, and he leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms defensively. "Hell no," he spat out, his voice carrying a mix of anger and incredulity. "We want nothing to do with that mess. My family, we stay clear of your…conflicts."

Of course they did; we'd killed his father…and we hadn't just done that. Ba had tortured him relentlessly, asking for information he didn't have.

"Is that so?" I replied, my voice laced with skepticism. "Because from where I stand, it looks like you're trying to get a rise out of the Serpents."

"Believe what you want." His hands unfolded and slammed onto the table, causing the delicate china to rattle. "But I'm telling you, we're not involved. We keep our hands clean of your dirty business."

"Sure," I said, smirking at his feigned innocence. "And I'm just here for the tea."

"Then drink up and leave," Andrew shot back, his eyes narrowing into slits. "You've got no business with us."

"Maybe," I conceded, tapping my fingers rhythmically on the tabletop. "Or maybe you're just better at hiding your tracks than most. But if I find out the Lins are lying..." I let the threat hang in the air, unfinished but understood.

Andrew leaned forward, hands spread once again on the table like he would reach across the table and strike me. "Get out of my mother's restaurant," he growled, trying to reclaim some semblance of authority.

"Or what?" I asked, rising to meet him eye to eye, unflinching. "You'll ask nicely again?"

"Get out," he repeated through gritted teeth.

I looked up at him, studying his face for any sign of deceit. But all I saw was the rage of a man who believed he could intimidate Nathan Zhou.

He had another thing coming.

"Listen," I said, my voice cold and steady, "I don't play games. You either get Xinyi Lin out here to talk to me, or—"

"Or what? You'll make a scene?" Andrew scoffed, his confidence swelling as he misjudged the situation. "You're in my world now, Fangs. Don't forget that."

"Your world?" I let out a short, humorless laugh. "You really think I'm afraid to get a little blood on my hands in public?"

"Are you crazy?" He leaned back slightly, but his posture remained defiant.

"Maybe," I admitted with a shrug. "But crazy is what keeps my enemies up at night." I locked eyes with him, letting him see the truth in mine. "Go get your mother, or so help me—"

"Stop acting like a damn psycho, Nathan." His voice was laced with irritation, but beneath it, there was a tremor of uncertainty.

"Last chance, Andrew," I warned, feeling the familiar itch in my veins, the one that came before violence.

"Go to hell," he spat.

That's when my patience snapped.

In one fluid motion, I grabbed the fork from the table—plain stainless steel, unassuming—and drove it into the back of his hand, pinning it to the wooden tabletop.

The metal sank into flesh with a sickening crunch. Blood began to pool around the tines, spreading across the varnished wood in a dark, spreading stain. Andrew's face contorted in pain as a guttural scream tore from his throat, raw and primal. He yanked his hand back, but that just drove the fork deeper, even if he was free—and he was bleeding, blood trickling down his forearm.

"Maybe next time you'll listen when I tell you to do something," I said quietly, my heart rate barely elevated. I had needed this—needed to bloody someone, even if only a little.

It felt good.

Necessary.

I was, after all, a creature of violence.

I rose from my seat, an eerie calm settling over me. Andrew's scream dwindled into choked sobs as he cradled his injured hand, the fork still protruding from the back of it like a grotesque adornment. His eyes, wide and brimming with panic, caught mine for a moment before I yanked him up by his collar.

"Walk," I growled, dragging him toward the kitchen doors.

The restaurant was a tableau of shocked faces, the patrons' meals forgotten as they witnessed the brutality unfolding. I ignored their gasps, the clatter of dropped utensils, the whispers that began to buzz like agitated hornets.

Through the kitchen doors, we burst into a world of stainless steel and white tile. The cooks looked up from their prep stations, eyes round with disbelief. They knew who I was—knew better than to ask questions or get in my way.

"Out!" My voice boomed against the walls. "Now!"

No one argued. No one dared. They scattered like leaves in a gale, leaving Andrew and me alone among the abandoned woks and steaming pots.

"Please, Nathan—" Andrew started, but I cut him off with a fist to his jaw. The sound of impact was satisfying, the jolt of pain in my knuckles grounding.

"Shut up." I hit him again, feeling that itch start to ebb away with each blow.

I was methodical, precise, every punch a carefully chosen sentence in the language of violence I'd been raised on.

His breath came in ragged gasps now, his attempts to defend himself weakening. Blood dotted his lips, and I wiped my hand on my pants, smearing red across black fabric.

"Remember this next time you think about crossing me," I snarled, punctuating my words with another strike. "Remember who you're dealing with."

Andrew slumped against the counter, his face a mess of bruises and blood. His whimpers had faded, leaving just the harsh rasp of his breathing and the distant clamor of the dining room beyond the closed doors.

And still, I didn't stop.

Because now I was getting into the rhythm of it, my fists pounding against flesh in a sick form of therapy.

"Mercy, please...mercy," Andrew's words barely sliced through the thick tension in the air, his voice choked with pain and fear. Blood pooled beneath him, a stark red against the sterile stainless-steel floor.

"Mercy?" I laughed coldly, my fist cocked back, ready to deliver another blow. "You think you deserve mercy?"

"Ma!" His eyes flickered past me, widening with a mixture of hope and dread.

My head snapped up as the kitchen door swung open with a bang. Xinyi Lin stood there, her presence filling the room like a storm cloud rolling in over the bay. She was all business, her eyes flinty and fierce. I'd never seen her in anything but full control, and this—this chaos in her kitchen—had sparked a fire in her that made even my blood run cold for a second.

"Get off my son," she commanded, her voice slicing through the clamor like a knife. Without hesitation, she marched toward us, her hands balled into fists at her sides.

I didn't give a fuck.

I laid into him again, punch after punch, until he was on the ground…and then I was kicking him in the ribs. He was barely moving now, but Xinyi didn't falter, reaching to grab my arms, to pry me away. We struggled, her determination matching mine blow for blow. Her nails dug into my skin, her actions fueled by a mother's desperation.

"Enough, Nathan! Enough!" she shouted, and I could hear the panic in her voice.

In a moment of fury, I turned to face her. My hand acted without command, striking Xinyi across the face with a force that echoed in the silent aftermath. She stumbled back, her eyes wide with shock, and fell against the steel countertops clattering with an array of pans.

The sound of her hitting the floor cut through the haze of anger like a knife through silk. My chest heaved, breaths coming out in ragged torrents as I watched her struggle to regain her footing, a hand pressed to her reddening cheek.

What had I done?

I stood there, frozen, my own mother's face superimposed over Xinyi's pained expression.

"Ma..." The word slipped out, barely audible above the ringing in my ears…or Andrew's ragged, guttural breathing.

Reality crashed into me like the waves against the cliffs at Marshall's Beach. I'd crossed a line; I could feel the shift in the air, the weight of gazes from the kitchen staff who'd been too terrified to leave.

"Get up," I muttered, more to myself than to her. I backed away, my movements jerky, unfocused. The sight of Andrew's motionless form on the ground, Xinyi's tear-streaked face—it was all too much.

I turned on my heel, shoving past the stainless-steel doors that separated the kitchen's violence from the dining room's opulence. The serene hum of conversations and clinking glasses felt surreal as I strode through the restaurant, every eye turning to follow the trail of chaos left in my wake.

Bursting out into the light of the setting sun, I found my car right where I left it, the sleek black exterior reflecting my face…making it all to clear that there was a hurricane raging inside me. I yanked open the door, threw myself inside, and jammed the key into the ignition.

The engine roared to life, a beast awakened, as I peeled out of the parking lot with tires screeching their protest. In the rearview mirror, the flashing red and blue lights were closing in, but I was already gone, swallowed up by the city's labyrinth of streets.

And no one would say my name.

They wouldn't dare.

I would get away with this…just like I got away with everything else.

"Shit," I hissed, gripping the steering wheel until my knuckles turned white.

This wasn't just another brawl, another assertion of power. I'd struck an elder, a woman—a cardinal sin in the code I followed, even in this twisted world I inhabited. And not just once.

Twice in two days.

Xinyi Lin…and Abby.

"Ba's gonna have my head for this," I murmured, knowing the Serpent would see this as more than a lapse in judgment. It was a crack in the empire, a sign of weakness we couldn't afford.

My thoughts raced, a torrent of strategy and regret, as I navigated the familiar roads back to the empty high rise. I wanted to pretend to be normal, to pretend like there was no world outside of that cozy apartment where Abby—my prisoner—waited.

I needed a distraction from the storm inside.

And Abby was a perfect distraction.

If I was foolish enough to keep a pet…then I was going to fucking use her.