Chapter Twenty-Four Nathan

This could have been downright domestic, if it wasn't for the fact that I'd taken this woman prisoner.

I pulled all my cooking supplies out of the locked cabinet in the kitchen, the code necessary in case I had ever needed a makeshift prison cell. Especially after Abby's attempt at hiding a shiv, I was glad I'd put contingency plans in place; they'd saved my life before, and they'd likely save my life again.

The sound of the TV switching channels punctuated the silence of the room as I chopped vegetables, preparing the simplest meal I knew how to make. Abby, with her green eyes sharp as jade, moved like a shadow between the flickering glow of the screen and the kitchen counter, watching me or the TV. She'd flip through a few stations, pause, and then drift back toward me, her gaze curious, almost cat-like.

"Can't find anything good?" I asked without turning, feeling her presence near the threshold of the kitchen.

"Nothing's catching my interest," she replied, her voice betraying a mix of boredom and something else—was it anticipation?

"Maybe you'll find the cooking show more entertaining," I quipped, keeping my tone light.

Her soft laugh brushed against the tension in the room. "You're no Gordon Ramsay, Nathan, that's for sure."

"Never claimed to be," I said, focusing on the task at hand, but my attention was split. One part of me was keeping track of every move she made, the other half contemplating the stir-fry that needed to not taste like cardboard.

Abby leaned against the wall, her arms folded across her chest. "You always this careful with your kitchenware?"

"Always careful with everything I own," I shot back, the words edged with a truth deeper than the surface conversation. In my line of work, carelessness didn't lead to cuts from a kitchen knife—it led to far worse.

She pushed off the frame and took a few steps into the kitchen, eyeing the ingredients laid out on the counter. "I'm surprised you have time for this, what with your busy schedule."

"Everyone's gotta eat," I countered, slicing through a bell pepper with a swift, sure motion. The sound of the knife against the cutting board was rhythmic, almost soothing in its regularity.

"Even the notorious Fangs Zhou?" Her tone was teasing, but there was an undercurrent of something sharper. Curiosity, maybe, or a dare.

"Especially him," I said, finally looking up to meet her gaze. It was important she remembered who I was, who held the power in this game of ours.

But damn if those freckles sprinkled across her nose didn't make it hard to stay cold. "So you do watch a lot of cooking shows?"

"No. Careful, Abby," I warned, my voice low, "you might start thinking I'm human."

"Wouldn't dream of it," she said, the TV forgotten as she pulled out a stool and sat down at the bar, her attention now fully on me. There was something about being watched by her that set my nerves on edge—like I was the one being hunted.

"Good," I replied, turning back to the vegetables. "Wouldn't want to disappoint."

I kept the blade moving, the pile of diced vegetables growing steadily. Abby's green eyes followed each movement with an intensity that could cut glass. I felt her gaze like a physical touch, sparking something in the air between us. "What are you making?"

"Chicken stir-fry," I said, answering the unspoken question. "Nothing fancy. I'm not exactly a chef."

"Looks competent enough to me," she replied, resting her chin on her hand as she watched. "Why bother?"

"Figured a hot meal would do you some good," I answered without looking up from my task. "Better than living off the snacks I got stashed away."

"Trying to take care of me now?" Her voice carried a note of mockery but was tinged with genuine curiosity.

"Let's just say I prefer my…guests to be comfortable," I said, keeping it light, brushing close to the truth but never quite touching it.

"Is that part of the Triad hospitality package?" She quirked an eyebrow, challenging me.

"Only for the special ones."

She leaned back slightly, crossing her arms as if bracing herself for a confrontation. "Are the flowers and dinner an apology for last night?"

Her voice was steady, but I noticed the slight tremble in her hands. I tensed at the question, my grip on the knife tightening momentarily. Images of the previous night's events flashed in my mind—tearing her clothes off, making her cry…making her come. I tried to mask any sign of concession in my expression, but it was like trying to smooth ripples from water.

"Apology?" I shook my head, dismissing the suggestion with a half-laugh that sounded more forced than I intended. I looked at her directly then, my eyes locking onto hers with the intensity that came naturally to me. "I don't have to apologize for last night."

The air between us crackled with an unspoken challenge. Even as I said the words, part of me wondered if I was trying to convince her or myself. But there was no room for weakness in my world—not when you're Fangs Zhou, son of the Serpent, enforcer of his will.

Her eyes narrowed at my words, a spark igniting in their depths that could've been anger or something more dangerous. The room seemed to shrink, the space between us charged with an energy that had nothing to do with the sizzling chicken in the pan.

"Because I'm your toy, is that it?" Her voice was low, a mix of defiance and something else that sent a jolt straight through me.

"You said it yourself," I murmured. "And I play rough."

I try to ignore her, concentrating on the stir-fry, the rhythm of cooking momentarily grounding me. The sharp scent of spices hit the air, mingling with the subtler notes of her perfume—a reminder of the complexity of the woman sitting just feet away, watching my every move. There was something about Abby that cut through the layers of who I was supposed to be, who I had been crafted to become as Kenneth Zhou's son.

"Wow, you really are quick with that knife." Abby's voice pulled me back from the edge of my own thoughts, spiking a little with what seemed like genuine surprise.

I glanced over at her, shrugging as I continued to chop. "Guess it's one skill I do have."

"Is it because you're a killer?" The question was out before she could stop it, her eyes widening slightly as if she hadn't meant to be so blunt.

I couldn't help but laugh, the sound more genuine than I expected. "No, it's not because I'm a killer. It's because I used to chop veggies for my mother when she would cook. Still do, every so often."

"Really?" Abby tilted her head, a lock of brown hair falling across her face. Her expression softened just a touch, curiosity replacing the challenge from moments before.

"Really," I confirmed, scooping the perfectly diced vegetables into the sizzling pan. I looked up, locking eyes with her again. "Not every part of me is defined by the family business."

"Tell me about your family," she said, her voice laced with an unexpected softness. It was a dangerous question—more dangerous than she realized—but here, in this space where I held all the cards, I found myself more than happy to share.

No one had ever asked these kinds of questions.

I would have never been able to answer anyway.

"My mother is the perfect homemaker," I started. "She's got this way of making everything feel warm, you know?"

Abby leaned in slightly, green eyes fixed on me as if I was revealing the secret to a magic trick. "And your siblings?"

"Three younger ones." I turned back to the stir-fry, giving it a quick toss. "Spoiled rotten by Ma's care. She's got enough love to smother us all."

"Sounds nice," she murmured, and I caught something flicker across her face—a pang of longing, perhaps?

"Nice? Maybe," I replied, the edges of my mouth curling into a half-smile. "Chaotic? Definitely."

Abby watched me with a newfound intensity, as if trying to reconcile the image of a doting son with that of the man who wouldn't hesitate to draw blood when necessary. I cleared my throat, desperately wanting to know her thoughts.

"Does that surprise you?"

Abby shrugged. "I wouldn't have guessed that a notorious criminal would come from such a…well-structured family."

Her words struck a nerve. I wasn't just some street thug; I was a Zhou, and the pride of that ran deep. "Just because our business is dark doesn't mean we're broken," I snapped back, sharper than I intended. The knife in my hand stopped its rhythmic chopping for a moment as I met her gaze. "We're a family, like any other."

"Sorry," she said quickly, not looking sorry at all but knowing when to back down. "I didn't mean to offend you."

"Offend me?" I scoffed, my ruffles smoothing out as I resumed the cooking. "You'll need to try harder than that."

The tension simmered down as I focused on finishing the meal. She watched me silently now, perhaps sensing she'd treaded into dangerous territory.

Moments later, I plated the stir-fry, steam curling up from the mound of rice and vegetables. I slid one hot plate across the granite countertop toward her. Her eyes followed the dish, and then flickered up to mine. There was something like gratitude there, or maybe it was just hunger.

"Thanks," she muttered, taking the plate.

"Enjoy."

I gathered the cooking supplies—paring knife included—and secured them back in the locked cabinet before joining her on the other side of the kitchen island, staying standing.

She didn't waste any time, diving into the food like it was her first meal in days. Her fork moved back and forth from plate to mouth in quick succession. But as she swallowed a bite, her face twisted into a grimace that she tried to hide behind a smile.

"Not good?" I asked, laughing softly.

"Fine," she said, though her expression had already betrayed her true thoughts. "It tastes…fine."

"Fine?" I raised an eyebrow, watching as she took another reluctant forkful. "That's not exactly high praise."

"It's better than stale crackers, and I do appreciate the hot food."

"Your gratitude is overwhelming," I said.

She set her fork down with a clink against the plate and looked up at me, her green eyes bright with a challenge. "Next time, you have to let me cook for you."

A laugh escaped me before I could stop it. I leaned forward, my arms braced on the counter. "After that stunt with the shiv, you think I'm gonna let you near a knife?"

Her cheeks flushed with color, but she held my gaze. "I can handle knives just fine without using them on you. You might actually get a decent meal out of it."

"Decent?" I smirked, pushing off the counter to collect our empty plates. "This was more than decent."

"Sure, Nathan." She rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth lifted in a half-smile. "Keep telling yourself that."

The banter felt oddly normal, a reprieve from the heavy cloud of tension that usually hung between us. And yet, even as we traded jabs, the air was charged, a reminder that nothing about this situation was normal at all.

When I turned around, though, her smile had faded as quickly as it had appeared, and she watched me with a new intensity. "How long do you plan on keeping me here, Nathan?" Her voice was steady, but I could hear the edge to it, the undercurrent of her fear and frustration.

"That's none of your business," I replied flatly, avoiding her gaze as I scraped leftovers into the trash. The words felt harsh, even to my own ears, but I couldn't afford to give her hope where there was none.

"None of my business?" The incredulity in her voice was clear as she pushed away from the bar and stood up, her eyes narrowing. "My own life is none of my business?"

"You know what I meant." I turned to face her, locking my jaw. This conversation was veering off into dangerous territory, and I needed to steer it back, re-establish control. "As far as you're concerned, this is your reality now."

She stiffened, and for a second, I thought she might actually hit me. But instead, she just stood there, green eyes blazing, chest rising and falling with rapid breaths.

"I need to remind you of exactly what you are," I continued, my voice low. I stepped closer, watching as her defiance wavered, giving way to an unspoken understanding of the power I held over her.

"Your toy," she whispered, the word a mix of contempt and resignation. And…something else.

I was almost certain. But maybe I was just telling myself that. Whatever her feelings were, I couldn't afford to get swept up in them.

"Exactly." The word was a declaration, a seal over whatever relationship we had. I wasn't sure if I meant it to remind her or myself, but it hung heavy in the air between us.

Our gazes locked, and for a moment, neither of us moved.

She was the first to cave.

She sat back down quietly, the energy from our earlier exchange gone as if it had never been.

"Next time, I'll make something better," I said after a while, breaking the quiet that had settled between us. It wasn't an apology, but it was as close as I'd get.

"Next time," she echoed, a hint of that earlier challenge returning to her eyes.

But then she shook her head slightly—accepting, for the moment at least, the twisted reality of her situation.

Instead of feeling victorious, and even though I was full, when I looked at her right then…all I could feel was hunger.