Chapter Thirty-Two Abby

Iwas alive.

I intended to remain fucking alive.

I was a coil of tension, every fiber of my being pulled taut as Nathan handed me a fresh pair of sweats and a shirt. The fabric carried the scent of him, an intoxicating mix of danger and something surprisingly gentle. My legs ached, calves tight with the memory of pleasure that left me breathless and yearning.

"Here," he said, his voice a low thrum in the quiet room. With a patience I hadn't expected from a man of his reputation, he brushed a strand of hair behind my ear. Then, he handed me a hairband. "You'll want your hair out of your face."

"Thanks," I muttered, gathering my brown locks into a ponytail. I couldn't reconcile this tenderness with the ruthless assassin prince who ruled the streets of San Francisco with an iron fist.

Nathan's hand found its way around my waist, pulling me close. "You gonna behave for me, Abby?" His tone was playful, but the undercurrent of authority wasn't lost on me.

"Always," I replied, feeling the hard proof of his desire against my stomach. He tilted my chin up, his grip firm yet devoid of malice, and captured my lips with his. The kiss was deep, claiming, leaving no room for doubt about who I belonged to.

I loved it.

Pulling away, he fished out a pair of sunglasses and placed them in my hands. "It's bright out there. Don't need you getting a headache."

I blinked at the shades, a mundane concern from a man who dealt daily with life and death. I slipped them on my shirt, and we stepped outside together, the potted plant from the apartment our only companion.

"Nice touch with the plant," I commented, trying to keep the mood light despite the pulse of anxiety beneath my ribs. This was the first time I'd been out of this apartment in days–and it tasted like a change on the wind, like freedom.

"Even the darkest places need a bit of life," he said, his gaze briefly softening before the mask of the Triad boss slid back into place.

Freedom, it seemed, was just another illusion when you were tied to this man.

Nathan's hand was a shackle around my arm, unyielding as he marched me down the corridor. The hallway was a skeleton of what it might one day become, all bare concrete and exposed wires—an apt metaphor for the unfinished business between us. Fear twisted in my gut, but I masked it behind a veneer of bravado.

"Planning to bury me in the foundations, Nathan?" My voice echoed slightly, too loud in the confined space.

He shot me a look that was all sharp edges, but his grip didn't tighten. "You watch too many movies, Abby."

"Nothing else to do when you're kidnapped," I muttered under my breath.

He chuckled, the sound scarier than it should have been. "No…I don't bury people," he said quietly. "They go straight into an industrial composter–make for good soil."

Jesus. My mouth went dry, my throat constricting.

If I hadn't fought for my life last night, that could have been me.

The elevator was definitely different to the plush ones I'd seen in high rises on TV; just steel and a single button worn from use. As we descended, my heart thumped wildly. Every ding marking our descent was a countdown to an unknown fate. But when the doors opened, instead of a watery grave or a concrete tomb, there stood a sleek black BMW in a well-lit parking garage.

"Come on." Nathan's voice was curt as he tugged me toward the car. He opened the back door and gestured inside with a nod. "After you."

"Such a gentleman," I muttered, climbing in. The leather seats were cool against my skin, a small comfort as he clicked the child locks into place and slid into the driver's seat. His movements were precise, every action calculated.

I slid the sunglasses over my eyes.

As we emerged onto the bustling streets of San Francisco, sunlight filtered through the tinted windows, casting the world in a monochrome hue. I leaned back, trying to calm the rapid beat of my heart.

"Relax, Abby. You're safe," he said without looking at me, eyes fixed on the road.

"Safe is a relative term with you, isn't it?"

"Safer than you'd be anywhere else," Nathan replied, a hint of something unreadable in his voice. "At least here, I can protect you."

"From what? Or should I say, who?"

He went quiet. "Don't worry about that. I know you have moxie. I know you've got a knack of survival. I respect that."

"Survival," I repeated, allowing myself a small smile. "I guess being raised by a cop does have its advantages."

"Owen Harper did a fine job," he acknowledged, and it was my turn to shoot him a sharp look.

"Leave my dad out of this," I warned, the familiar surge of protective fury rising within me. I'd never told Nathan my father's name; he must have been doing his research.

"Fair enough," he conceded, and for a moment, there was silence except for the hum of the engine and the faint sounds of the city beyond the glass.

I watched the buildings blur past us, each one casting a fleeting shadow that danced across Nathan's focused expression. In the back seat, my heart hammered with a cocktail of fear and something else—a thrill? No, not possible.

"Can I ask you something?" My voice sounded more timid than I intended, betraying my nerves.

"Ask." His eyes never left the road, but I felt his attention on me, heavy as a physical touch.

"Will I ever get to go out for a run, or just...walk? Clear my head?" The question hung between us, my craving for freedom suddenly sharp and insistent.

"Everything you need is in my apartment," he said matter-of-factly. "Including a home gym."

"Of course," I murmured, my gaze drifting over his broad shoulders and the tight set of his jaw. He was jacked—duh—the kind of physique that didn't come without hours of dedication. Or lifting bodies, perhaps. "But what about my friends and family? They've obviously noticed that I'm not around."

He glanced at me through the rearview mirror. "They have to believe you're safe and busy. Your life now requires discretion. You understand why."

"Because I know too much," I whispered, the weight of his world pressing down on me. "I get it. All I want is to please you, Nathan."

I did want to please him. That was just not all I wanted.

"Good." There was approval in his tone, but also a warning. His eyes met mine again in the mirror, a dark promise reflecting in their depths. "We'll have to be careful. Trust goes both ways here, Abby."

The notion was absurd, and yet… wasn't this odd form of symbiosis we were developing a kind of trust? The thought was as unsettling as it was compelling. At least it was in my interest for him to believe that.

The car turned into the shade of an underground garage, the transition from sunlight to artificial light mirroring the shift in our conversation. The engine fell silent, and with it, the fragile bubble burst, reality rushing back in.

Nathan got out and came around to open my door. As I stepped out into the cool, dimly lit space, the scent of oil and rubber grounding me, I realized that my old life was receding fast, like the city skyline in the rearview mirror. Ahead lay a new existence, unpredictable and dangerous, but undeniably alive. And at its center was Nathan—my captor, my protector, the man who held the keys to my cage.

The door to the sleek black BMW closed with a solid thud behind me, and I fought the urge to glance back at it—at the false sense of security it had provided. Nathan's grip on my arm was firm but not harsh again as he escorted me through the garage, my bare feet chilled by the concrete floor. He hadn't given me shoes; I guessed that would make it too easy to run. We approached an unassuming door, and he led me up a set of stairs that spiraled towards daylight.

"Watch your step," Nathan cautioned, a hint of something softer in his voice. It could've been concern, but I wasn't ready to assign such human qualities to him just yet.

As we ascended into his apartment, the contrast was startling. Natural light flooded the space from floor-to-ceiling windows, offering a view that stretched endlessly toward the ocean. The décor was minimalist, yet every piece seemed carefully selected, exuding luxury and taste. I couldn't help but think that this was no bachelor pad; it was a fortress, a meticulously curated domain.

"Wow."

"Surprised?" His lips quirked up in amusement, his dark eyes watching me closely.

"Understatement of the year," I shot back, regaining my composure. My mind worked overtime, cataloging details, assessing exits, estimating costs. But amidst the mental notes, I couldn't ignore the flutter in my chest—a dangerous thrill at being here, in the lion's den.

"Welcome home, Abby." His voice held a note of mockery, or maybe it was pride. It was hard to tell with Nathan.

Not the time for banter, I told myself. And yet…"I didn't expect to be slumming it so late into my twenties."

His laughter, bright and unexpected, echoed in the spacious room. "Yeah, well, you'll have to make do."

I crossed my arms over my chest, looking around again. The sleekness of the design, the gleaming surfaces, all of it seemed as alien as the man beside me. "Yeah," I said softly, more to myself than to him. "I guess I will."

If I was going to live in fear for my life, at least I had a hell of a view.