Chapter Thirty Abby

My pulse hammered, a relentless drumbeat echoing through my limbs.

I blinked, the sharp edge of reality slicing through the haze left behind by a pleasure so intense it had stolen my senses, rendered me sightless, deaf–nothing more than sensation for Nathan's taking. The afterglow was fading fast, and with each frantic beat of my heart, I became acutely aware of how dangerous this game truly was.

I had to do something, anything, to get out of this. There on the bed, in the dim evening light filtering through the blinds, I watched Nathan–Fangs, they called him–move with a languid grace that barely betrayed the violence I knew he was capable of. He rolled off the bed with the ease of a predator sure in his dominion, muscles shifting beneath that inked skin where a dragon snaked across his chest.

He didn't look at me as he stood, just reached down to pull his sweats up over the taut lines of his hips. My eyes traced the motion, my mind racing even as my body still twitched, coming down from the high of being utterly consumed by him. I struggled to remember who I was–Abigail Fucking Harper, FBI agent, trained at Quantico, fluent in Mandarin, and planted next door at that coffee shop for one reason: to take down the Golden Serpents from the inside.

As I lay there, trying to regain control, I couldn't help but wonder about the man I'd been sent to destroy. A man who tended to orchids like they were soft, delicate, and could snuff out a life with what felt like a flick of his wrist.

Nathan turned, casting a shadow across the room, and the faintest glint of something unreadable flickered in his dark gaze. It was a look that spoke of secrets and an inner turmoil I was yet to understand. And in that moment, despite the trepidation clawing at my insides, I realized I was seeing beyond the assassin prince's facade.

But this wasn't about feelings or attraction; it was survival. I needed to keep my wits about me, play the part I'd been assigned by him until I could find a way out. For now, though, I was trapped in his world, at his mercy, and my only option was to make him believe I was his, while every fiber of my being screamed for freedom.

I watched, heart hammering against my ribs, as Nathan rifled through the drawer once again. My mind raced, anticipating another round of his twisted game, but instead, he pulled out a pair of black gloves with a practiced ease. Slipping them onto his hands, the latex snapped against his skin ominously. Then came the syringe and a small bottle filled with a clear liquid.

Panic clawed its way up my throat.

"Please," I tried to beg through the duct tape, muffled sounds of desperation barely audible. My eyes darted around the room, searching for something, anything that could be used to my advantage. But there was nothing—just me, him, and the impending threat that filled the syringe between his fingers.

Nathan's movements were mechanical, chillingly calm as he tapped the syringe, air bubbles rising to the top. "This is a powerful anesthetic, Abby," he said, his voice devoid of emotion. "Just a little prick and you'll start to feel dizzy. But don't worry, your death will be quick, painless."

I screamed again, thrashing against the cuffs that held me captive, metal biting into already raw skin. Desperation surged through me, my training at Quantico kicking in despite the hopelessness of my situation.

Think about what you're doing, Nathan,I wanted to say, to reason with him, to find that part of him that might still resonate with the beauty of the world, like the blossoms he nurtured. But words failed me, and all that remained was the stark reality of my predicament, the moonlight casting shadows that seemed to whisper of my impending doom.

He crawled over me, his presence a heavy weight. "I'm sorry, Abby," he muttered, and I froze at the softness in his voice, so out of place with the coldness of his actions. It was as if the man who loved quiet moments among petals and blooms was fighting to surface through a sea of brutal upbringing.

His apology almost sounded like begging. He was gentle now, sweet even, brushing my hair away from my sweaty forehead with a tenderness that felt jarringly wrong. The softest kiss landed there, almost loving, and he whispered, "You've been wonderful."

Tears blurred my vision, hot and relentless. I wasn't sure when they had started or why. But even amid the confusion and terror, my body refused to give up. I closed my hand as small as I could get it, twisting the way I'd been taught since I was a kid raised by a paranoid father. I could get free of the cuff–it might hurt, but it was better than dying.

Then I was free–at least with one hand–and I could act.

With newfound adrenaline, I shoved him, sending him sprawling off the other side of the bed.

The syringe clattered to the floor somewhere in the room, its contents unknown, its purpose sinister. Nathan scrambled for it, but it had rolled into obscurity, lost in the shadows.

Not bothering to free my other wrist, I reached for my mouth, peeling off the duct tape with a sharp rip that stung my skin. I needed to speak, to use what little leverage I might have. He was bigger than me, faster. If we were to end up in combat, it would go badly for me.

But maybe I could just…talk to him. It was the only play I had left.

Nathan stood by the bed, looming over me, hands raised as if he were about to squeeze the life from my lungs. Fear spiked, but I swallowed it down.

"Wait," I managed to choke out, the word hanging between us, fragile as a spider's web.

Nathan paused, his eyes—those windows to a soul torn between two worlds—locked onto mine. His body remained tense, ready to spring into lethal action. But behind that readiness, I sensed hesitation, a glimmer of conflict. This was a man more used to concealing weapons than revealing emotions, yet here we were, in a standoff where words held more power than bullets.

"Wait," I repeated, my voice stronger this time, steadier despite the tears flowing down my cheeks. "Just wait."

He frowned, a silent command for me to explain myself, and I seized the moment.

"I'm not going anywhere," I said, my voice edged with the desperation that was clenching my insides. "But I know they're looking for me. I know they're looking for the missing white girl in San Francisco. We both know…we both know this isn't the kind of thing they're just going to give up. But I have an idea."

Nathan's expression didn't change, but he lowered his hands slowly, as if considering my words. The silence stretched between us, fraught with possibilities, each one more dangerous than the last.

"Look, you could kill me now, and that might solve one problem for you, but it's going to create several more. You don't want to attract attention to yourself, right? And we're not naive. We both know how the media works in this country. Young, pretty white girl goes missing in Chinatown…" I continued, trying to keep my voice level despite the pounding of my heart. "Or—I make you a deal." My eyes locked onto his, willing him to understand. "I'll be your girlfriend, your toy or whatever you want to call it. I'll stay with you indefinitely...if you let me live."

"Is that what you want?" he asked, his voice low, crawling toward me slightly. "To be mine?"

His question hung heavy in the room, and I knew my answer would seal my fate. "Yes," I said, and I meant it. I had never been good at lying anyway. "And to be honest...I've never had better sex."

He raised his eyebrows.

"Your touch," I said, my free hand slowly moving towards the bruises and bite marks marring my skin, "it's unlike anything I've ever experienced. It makes me want to touch myself." I could hear the raw honesty in my voice, and it startled me. This was more than just a ploy for survival; I was admitting something I hadn't fully accepted myself.

The corners of his mouth twitched upwards as he took in my words, sparks of interest igniting in his eyes. "The orgasms you give me," I continued, my voice dropping to a whisper. "I've never had better."

His dark eyes held mine, a feral gleam igniting within them as I spoke my truth. It was the truth—it definitely was. It was also my only ploy to stay alive. He moved closer, the bed dipping under his weight. He reached out, fingers tracing the edge of the bruise on my shoulder, the one he had left days ago. His touch was featherlight, almost reverent.

"Is that so?" His voice was softer now, a hint of huskiness creeping in, but the dangerous glint never left his eyes.

I nodded, meeting his gaze with all the courage I could muster. I had always been trained to maintain control, to keep my emotions in check. But right now, I needed to let Nathan see what I felt. How he made me feel.

"Yes," I breathed out. "You have me...craving you."

His jaw hardened, and I scrambled to make my final plea.

"I'm always so wet here," I said. "Tied up, just thinking about what you're going to do to me next. How you're going to touch me, how you're going to fill me. Every single time, it's like...it's like you're the only one who knows exactly what I want."

He shook his head again, and I swallowed, hot tears prickling the corner of my eyes again. At one point, I had stopped crying, but now it seemed like I might start again.

"Nathan, you don't want to kill me," I said. "You said it yourself. Even if I'm just a…just a hole…you said my pussy is perfect. Where else are you going to find something like this? If you don't want to keep me alive for me, keep me alive for you."

Fuck, I really hated this, but it seemed to be doing it for him, and he wasn't actively killing me so it was at least buying me time. There was also a part of me that enjoyed this, that loved being just a hole, a plaything to be used at his whim. I'd always been the strong one, the one in control, and this—this submission—was thrilling in a way I couldn't quite explain.

And maybe there was something seriously wrong with me for that, but right now I couldn't afford to care.

His lips quirked up in a half-smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. It was a look that spoke of many things—amusement, perhaps a touch of admiration, and something else I couldn't quite name. Nathan was a puzzle, a man who lived in shadows yet yearned for the light in ways he wouldn't admit.

"Alright," he said after a moment, his voice a soft rumble. "We can play this game—for now. But you will do everything I say. You will live how I want you to live, eat what I want you to eat, wear what I want you to wear. Do you understand?"

I exhaled heavily as I nodded. Nathan might have accepted my offer, but I wasn't out of the woods yet. There were rules in this new reality, and I would have to learn them fast.

As long as I was alive, there was a chance. A chance to survive, to fight another day. And maybe, just maybe, a chance for me to take down the Golden Serpents from the inside.

Nathan leaned back against the wall, the soft light from the lamp he had left on at night casting shadows across his sharp features. He regarded me with a gaze that seemed to strip away all pretense, and I could feel his eyes tracing the line of my jaw, down to my exposed breasts.

I swallowed, processing the terms. Living with Nathan Zhou, in the lion's den. It was risky, insane even, but it presented an opportunity I couldn't pass up. The chance to gather intel right under the nose of the most powerful Triad boss in San Francisco.

"And if anyone asks," he continued, "we'll have plenty of details to share about our little getaway."

I met his gaze, fighting to keep my emotions in check. Nathan might be setting the stage for our charade, but I was scripting my own role in this twisted play. One that involved digging through his secrets, unraveling his empire piece by piece.

"Understood?" he asked, his voice low and strangely hypnotic.

"Understood," I replied, matching his intensity.

Then, without warning, he closed the distance between us, his hand cupping the back of my neck as he pulled me into a kiss that was meant to seal our deal. His lips were demanding against mine, a silent claim of ownership. But there was something else there too—a flicker of genuine tenderness that caught me off guard.

I kissed him back, not just out of relief for being alive, but because, at that moment, I felt alive in a way I hadn't before. With every touch, I sensed an opening, a crack in his armor. Nathan Zhou might think he held all the cards, but he'd just dealt me into the game.

And I was playing for keeps.