Chapter Nineteen Abby

Iwas afraid.

But mostly, I was angry.

I paced the length of the apartment, every step a silent drumbeat in the darkening room. Night was falling, and with it, my chances of finding an escape seemed to slip further away. The windows were sealed tight, the door locked from the outside; Nathan had made sure of that.

Hours earlier, I had tried to distract myself. The TV droned on with some reality show I couldn't care less about. I'd taken a shower, letting the water cascade over my skin, hoping it would wash away the anxiety that clung to me. Freshly changed into a new set of oversized t-shirts and joggers, I'd even gone so far as to make the bed with military precision—a habit drilled into me by my father—as if neatness could restore order to this chaos. I raided the pantry, munching on crackers that tasted like cardboard but at least were there, but now...now none of that mattered.

My mind raced. The Serpent's Fang—a notorious Triad member, his reputation dripping with whispered stories of violence. When I saw him, I thought he might have owned a franchise of flower stores.

Because I was an idiot.

But could someone who cared for delicate flowers let me die up here?

Each tick of the clock mocked me with its indifferent rhythm. My heart felt like a trapped bird within my ribcage, flapping wildly for freedom, while my brain ran scenario after scenario. With each passing minute, Nathan's absence hung heavier, and I wondered if he was going to leave me to starve here.

I would run out of stale crackers eventually.

I knew starvation wasn't really a Triad approach, but the man was known for being creative.

"Abby Harper," I muttered under my breath, trying to ground myself with the sound of my own name. "You're not going down without a fight."

But even as I said it, I knew Nathan held all the cards. And I was beginning to fear he might just let the game play out until there was nothing left of me but a memory.

The walls of the apartment closed in on me, and I felt the weight of isolation bearing down. I was in the kitchen, wondering what the fuck to do as I thought about it…and I had nothing. I couldn't just break out of here. Not yet, anyway.

It was a strange feeling for an FBI agent, accustomed to being the one in control, the one with the backup plan. But right now, I had no backup, no plan—nothing but the hope that Nathan would return. And yet, a part of me dreaded what that return might bring.

I didn't have a lot of time to think about it. As I was losing myself in thoughts of starvation and who would find my dead body in this apartment, the door flew open with a crash that sent a jolt through me, and he was there—Nathan. Blood splattered his clothes like abstract art, his eyes ablaze with something feral and uncontrolled. He shut the door behind him and he strode towards me with a predator's grace, a silence hanging around him that was louder than any words.

I took a step back, my heart pounding against my ribcage as if it wanted to break free. But before I could move further, his hand shot out, gripping the back of my head with an iron strength. His lips crashed onto mine, a kiss that was more possession than passion, reeking of copper. Blood, I realized, a metallic taste mixing with the fear that spiked through my bloodstream.

"Jesus, Nathan," I breathed when his mouth finally left mine, my voice trembling. "What the hell?"

He said nothing, staring at me with those intense brown eyes, but they weren't warm now—they were dark, glazed over, as if he wasn't seeing me.

"Stop looking at me like that," I spat, trying to mask my fear with anger. But deep down, I knew it was futile. In this moment, trapped with him in the late-night shadows of this unknown apartment, Nathan held all the power. And as his bloody gaze bore into me, I couldn't deny the terror—and the unwanted flicker of desire—that he stirred within me.

The heat from his body radiated against mine, a dangerous warmth that made my skin tingle despite my better judgment. I pushed against his chest, my palms flat and forceful, breaking the too-close proximity between us. "We can't—this isn't—" My voice broke off as frustration boiled within me.

"Abby," Nathan's voice was low, a dark melody that seemed to reach inside and pluck at something primal in me. I could feel myself getting hornier as he spoke and I hated it.

"No!" I snapped, anger giving me strength. I darted away, running toward the living room. He stayed still as I put the couch between us, creating a barrier he would have to cross. He moved toward me, his movements confident, predatory even. He was used to being in control, but this time, I wasn't going to make it easy for him.

"Damn it, Nathan! You can't just kiss me like everything is normal," I shouted, circling the couch, keeping it between us. "Things have changed. I'm your prisoner now, remember? We're not just sleeping together at a club. This isn't like that anymore."

He paused, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face before he lunged around the couch. I backpedaled, avoiding his grasp with a quick sidestep honed by years of training.

I chided myself mentally. I had to be careful not to be too fast if I didn't want him to know about my training. My heart raced, each beat echoing the chase that unfolded in the dim apartment.

"Abby, stop running," he commanded, his voice deep and steady.

"I won't let you corner me," I retorted, trying to calm my racing pulse.

"Then you should know better than to think you can escape me," he countered, his stance unwavering as he kept advancing.

I hated this dance we were doing—me fleeing, him pursuing. It was a twisted game with stakes higher than I dared to admit, even to myself. But more than anything, I despised the way my body betrayed me, how it remembered the pressure of his lips, the touch of his hands. With every step I took, I fought not only Nathan but also the treacherous part of me that craved the danger he embodied.

"Stop trying to catch me, Nathan," I pleaded, my voice softening despite my resolve. "Just...just talk to me."

He hesitated, and for a heartbeat, I saw a glint of the florist I had built up in my head, the man who cared for orchids with a gentleness that did nothing but bury his reputation. But then it vanished, replaced by the mask of the Triad assassin, and I knew that this was far from over.

I had barely taken a breath, steeling myself for another attempt at escape, when Nathan lunged forward with the lethal grace of a predator. His hand caught the back of my neck and tangled his fingers in my hair, pulling painfully, his grip unyielding as he dragged me from the living room to the kitchen island despite me trying to dig my feet into the floor to stop him from moving me.

I was much smaller than him; there was no way for me to get out of his grip.

He thrust me against the cool marble of the kitchen island, hard enough that the impact knocked the wind out of me.

When I managed to breathe again, I knew I had to fight.

"Let go of me!" I cried out, pushing against his iron hold, but my efforts were futile. He yanked hard on my hair, bending me over the surface and ripping at my shirt. He was fast, efficient, dexterous. The sound of tearing fabric echoed in the otherwise silent room, my heart hammering wildly in my chest.

"Thought you could be sneaky, huh?" he growled next to my ear, his hot breath sending shivers down my spine, the very reaction I didn't want to have.

As his other hand roamed down my shorts, it brushed against the waistband where I'd hidden my last-ditch effort for self-defense. With a swift motion, he retrieved the makeshift shiv, examining it briefly before flinging it across the room. It clattered against the tile floor, its sound mocking me in my defenselessness.

"Bad move, Abby," Nathan said, his tone laced with a dangerous calm that sent waves of alarm through me. "You just made things worse for yourself."

"Damn you, Nathan," I spat, anger and fear mixing in a volatile concoction. "Is this how you treat someone you...you..."

"Shh," he said into my ear, his hand suddenly covering my face as he muffled my speech. "You're pretty when you're quiet. So shut up or I'm going to make you shut up."

I nodded, aware he was unbuckling his belt, unzipping his zipper.

He twisted my face so I would look right into his eyes as he spoke. Nathan's eyes met mine, dark and intense, holding a power that stripped away the layers of my defiance. "I can feel how much you want this, Abby," he murmured. "I can smell how fucking wet you are. I could smell it from when I walked into this apartment. Have you been touching yourself thinking about me? I bet you have. I bet you can't wait to have my cock inside you again."

I didn't have time to retort. He had already torn my shorts and with his free hand, he reached down to tear my flimsy excuse for a thong, which still had traces of our first encounter outside the club on it.

"Don't worry. I'll give you what you want," his voice was low and rough as his cock slid into me with a possessive thrust that stole my breath away.

"Damn you," I whispered, because I couldn't stop myself. I hated how good he felt, how perfectly he filled me. There was no denying the arousal between my legs, the readiness that welcomed him despite my mind's screams of resistance. My body moved of its own accord, pushing back against him, meeting each of his hard, deep strokes with a hunger I didn't want to acknowledge.

He grunted, a sound of raw male satisfaction that vibrated through me as we moved together in a rough, primal rhythm. The edge of the island dug into my hips, the discomfort a stark contrast to the pleasure that spiraled inside me as Nathan reached around and found my clit with unerring precision.

"Fuck, Abby. Such a perfect little cunt," his voice was strained, heavy with lust as his fingers worked their magic, coaxing gasps and moans from my lips. I was unraveling, caught in the storm of sensation that he commanded so effortlessly.

And then, just as the coil in my belly wound tight, ready to snap, I came apart. It was fierce, uncontrollable, shattering me with waves of ecstasy that echoed his ruthless pace. But even as I convulsed around him, something in me recoiled at the thought of him finding his own release.

He pulled out, leaving me…confused. Unhappy. Bruised.

I had no idea what to think. And I was angry, tears streamed down my cheeks, hot and unbidden, as Nathan turned me around to face him. His chest was heaving, splattered with red that told a story I didn't want to read. My gaze flicked to his, the black depths of his eyes holding mine in a grip as tight as the hands that had just claimed me. He leaned in, and his lips met mine with an urgency that surprised even me.

I should have pushed him away. I should have railed against the heat, the violence, the blood—but instead, my hands found their way to his shirt, trembling as they pulled at the fabric. The coppery scent filled my senses as I yanked him down toward me, desperate for his bruising kiss.

He pulled away from me, gasping. "You look fucking gorgeous when you cry," he said. "Like you should be in a museum somewhere."

I opened my mouth to protest, but then his hand was on the back of my neck again, just for a second, as he licked up my chin, up my cheek, sampling my tears like fine wine. "You taste good, too," he said. "Maybe I should make you cry more often."

Then he moved away from me, picking me up like he was about to carry me across the threshold. He was gentle despite his strength, which surprised me, but then we were in the bedroom and he was tossing me on the bed.

I didn't have time to think about it. The bed bounced once before his weight pinned me down, pressing me into the soft mattress. His movements were rough, primal, leaving no room for doubt or second thoughts. And then he was inside me again, each thrust stealing my breath, stoking the fire that I hated myself for feeling.

I should have told him to stop. I'm sure I thought it.

His lips found my neck, his teeth nipping at the sensitive flesh, causing me to gasp. It was all too much, too fast, but I couldn't pull away. His fingers dug into my hips, anchoring me to him as he drove into me again and again with a force that sent ripples of pain and pleasure coursing through me.

With each thrust, he filled me to the hilt, branding me with his mark. I clenched around him involuntarily, betraying the resistance I was trying to put up. His low chuckle echoed in my ears as he picked up his pace, his movements getting rougher with each passing second.

"The moment I saw you, Abby," Nathan growled in my ear, his thrusts never ceasing. "I knew I would claim you. Every part of you–your body, your mind, your damn soul." His words were a taunt, a challenge to the very core of me. "And this little cunt of yours," he continued, fingers tracing down my belly to where our bodies joined. "I knew it was mine from the start."

"What about—" a thrust interrupted me "what I—" another one, harder "want—"

"What do you mean what you want?"

I didn't say anything. I knew I shouldn't have said anything in the first place.

He silenced my protest with a harsh shove, making me gasp out loud as he bottomed out against my cervix. It hurt…it hurt in such a good way that I couldn't help but moan. "What you want?" he repeated, his voice sounding amused, contemptuous. "You're just a hole for me to fill, Abby." His words were cruel as he bore down into me with a savagery that stirred an unexpected desire.

The way he said it, like he owned me, stirred something in me. A primal need that was greater than the fear that gripped me and my anger at myself for letting him touch me. I felt used, degraded. And…I was pretty sure I was about to have the most intense orgasm of my life.

"Say it," he ordered, his fingers curling around my throat, just tight enough to be a warning. My chest tightened–not from lack of air but the anticipation of what he wanted me to say. The room spun for a moment as pleasure and pain mixed together, blurring the line between what was real and the dark fantasy Nathan was dragging me into. I felt myself teetering on the edge, the tremors of an impending climax shaking me to my core.

"Say it, Abby," he repeated, the pressure of his hand on my throat increasing slightly. His eyes bore into mine, challenging me to defy him even as his cock pounded relentlessly into me. The potent mix of fear and arousal was intoxicating.

"I'm just…I'm just a hole for you to use," I said, choking back on my words, vaguely aware that there were still tears streaming down my face.

"That's right," Nathan hissed, approval heavy in his words as he thrust into me with renewed vigor. His hand around my neck tightened just a hair more, the slight discomfort sharpening the pleasure that was building inside me.

And then, the coil inside me snapped again and I was coming undone beneath him. My body convulsed, arching off the bed as I cried out. The pleasure was raw, primal and it stole my breath away. All thoughts were stripped away as an intense wave of climax ripped through me. My vision blurred and dimmed momentarily, only to focus back on Nathan's dark gaze.

"That's it, Abby," he rasped out, his voice strained with his own impending release. "I can feel your cunt tightening around me…fuck."

His rhythm faltered, his thrusts growing erratic as he groaned my name.

Then he was coming too, his release washing over him like a tidal wave, his body stiffening above me before he collapsed heavily against my shaking frame.

For a moment, neither of us moved. The only sound in the room was our ragged breathing and the faint hum of city life outside. Nathan's weight was crushing, but I didn't have the energy to shove him off me. His hand was still around my throat, not squeezing now, but just resting there…like of course it should have been resting there.

After what felt like an eternity, he lifted himself off me and rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling. The silence stretched between us, heavy. It would have been awkward if it wasn't fucking terrifying.

I felt myself sniffling as the tears started to flow again. It was too much, my body still convulsing with the aftershock of the wildest orgasm of my life as I tried to stop myself from sobbing.

His hand finally fell from my throat, his fingers lightly trailing over my skin before coming to rest on my hip. The possessive touch sent a shudder through me — a mix of repulsion and pleasure that left me feeling sick.

"Your cunt looks so pretty filled up like this," he said. "Doesn't it?"

He seemed like he was expecting an answer so I nodded, curling up into a ball and pulling the sheets closer around my bare body. His scent, a blend of sweat and cologne and sex, filled my senses, intensifying the reality of what had just happened. I closed my eyes, wishing more than anything to be anywhere but here.

I now understood why he was keeping me alive.

And if I didn't get out of here…I knew things were going to get a lot fucking worse for me before he killed me.