12. Chapter Twelve Nathan

Chapter Twelve: Nathan

I was still in jail, yes—but at least this wasn’t solitary.

The ghost that had been dogging my every step since I landed here was gone. The cold, empty cell they tossed me into didn't bother me. No lawyer to hear my side, just walls and silence…but I had a window and a newspaper to read, and that was enough.

There was, of course, the ever-looming threat of a hit from one of Ba's loyal snakes.

But that was something I could focus on to stop myself from going insane.

Passing time felt like a joke, but staying sharp wasn't. My fingers worked over the makeshift blade, the shiv I'd crafted not too unlike the one Abby once made. The memory stung: my firecracker fiancée, whittling down plastic cutlery for her shot at freedom. I should've been mad thinking about it, but instead, a chuckle escaped me.

There I was, getting soft on memories that should've burned.

"Damn," I muttered under my breath, the edge of the shiv catching the light as I turned it over, testing its bite. "Gotta keep it together, Nathan." The boredom was a battle, but losing focus could mean missing the signs, the footsteps that might spell my end. But I couldn't help it; even locked up, part of me was still tangled up with Abby.

The thud of boots on concrete yanked me back to the now and I stashed the shiv under my cot fast. I rolled off the cot and hit the floor, hands behind my head before they even barked the command—any excuse for them not to find the shiv. Cuffs snapped around my wrists, cold and familiar. Shackles bound my ankles, just enough give to shuffle along as they escorted me out.

"Morning stroll to the interrogation room," a guard said, the words dripping with a sarcasm I felt in my bones.

This couldn’t be good. I didn’t know what they wanted…but I knew that much.

We moved through the sterile halls, echoes bouncing off walls that could tell more stories than most snitches. The room was waiting, the same table, the same chairs, the same stale air.

They cuffed me to the table as usual. I didn't resist. It was part of the dance by now, the steps memorized to monotony.

"See you in a few," one guard grunted.

Alone, with just the hum of fluorescent lights for company, I settled into the chair. Minutes dragged into what could've been hours. They wanted to sweat me out, break the silence with my own voice, but I wasn't biting. I knew their game, had seen it played on guys less sturdy than me. But I'd given them what I could without signing my own death warrant or throwing my siblings, Knuckles, and Abby into the fire.

"Come on, Hayes," I murmured, the name leaving a bitter taste. "What's your angle today?"

But she didn't show. Just me, the room, and time stretching out. My mind worked over every angle, every piece of the puzzle. What did they still want?

What play was I missing?

A thought crept in, uninvited but persistent. Abby. Had they caught her? I shook my head, trying to banish the worry. She was too smart for them, a ghost in the wind. But then there was Owen. He knew things—things I hadn't told Hayes. If he wanted me gone, if he wanted to get Abby away from me for good, he could do it.

I pushed the thoughts away, focusing instead on the cold feel of the metal cuffs, the way they dug into my wrists—a sensation that was almost comforting in its familiarity. It was something real, something present.

The door creaked open, breaking the silence, and Diane Hayes walked in. I scowled, and she laughed, the sound sharp and mocking.

"Still here, Nathan?" she asked. "You're looking a bit rough around the edges."

"Lawyer," I spat out, not bothering to hide my disdain. She enjoyed this—me locked up, at her mercy. The power trip was written all over her smug face.

She pulled out the chair across from me, the legs scraping against the floor, and sat down with a deliberate slowness. As she crossed one leg over the other, I couldn't help but think that there was more to her than just the badge and the tough talk. My father—the Serpent—had his fingers in so many pies, it wouldn't surprise me if Hayes was on his payroll, playing both sides.

"Getting sick of these four walls yet?" she asked, her eyes scanning mine, searching for something.

All I did was stare at her, even though I wanted to scream. Her presence was grating. Every time she showed up, it reminded me how little control I had over anything anymore.

And today…something was off about all this.

I glanced up, my gaze catching the dead eye of the camera in the corner. It wasn't blinking its usual red. That little light that meant we had an audience was off. My heartbeat kicked up a notch, and I felt cold sweat on the back of my neck.

“Ah,” she said. “Notice something different?”

I glared at her. "What's your game, Hayes?"

"Game?" She feigned innocence, but her eyes held a flicker of something else—amusement, maybe even excitement. "No games, Nathan. Just options."

"Bullshit,” I muttered, narrowing my eyes.

"No, I’m being serious, you’ve got options—two of them," she said, leaning forward slightly. "You can either give us everything—names, places, details on the arsonists—or you get transferred to a facility across the state."

"Is that right?" I shot back, my voice tight. "Last time I checked, I hadn't been sentenced to anything yet. Haven't even seen a lawyer, in case you forgot."

"Lawyers." Hayes waved her hand dismissively. "You think they have power here? This is my table, Nathan. And you're just sitting at it hoping for scraps."

I straightened my back and kept staring. No…I wasn’t going to play along. Fuck her.

"Guess that answers my question then," Hayes said, standing up with a sigh. She stepped around the table and moved closer to me. I tensed, trying to jerk away as she reached for my cuffs, but the shackles held me firm to the chair.

"What are you—"

Her hands were deft, the cuffs clicking open, releasing my wrists from their iron grip. I frowned. This had to be a trick. But all she did was flash me that cold smile of hers and walk out, her heels clicking against the floor like a ticking clock.

I didn't move. I knew better than to think this was over. The camera was still off. Something was coming; I could feel it in my bones.

Minutes ticked by, slow and heavy. Finally, I raised my hands, flexing my fingers. They felt foreign, like they belonged to someone else after so long in those cuffs. My heart pounded away, a drumbeat of anticipation. Or maybe fear. Hard to tell the difference these days.

The door handle turned, and three officers came in. No words, just boots on concrete and the rustle of fabric. Their faces were blank slates, but their eyes…their eyes gave them away. They were here for something, and I was pretty sure it wasn't to wish me a good morning.

"Officers," I greeted them, my voice steady even as my mind raced. They just stood there, watching me with hawk-like intensity. I sat still, waiting for their move, because I knew one wrong twitch could turn this room into a cage fight—and I was already at a disadvantage.

The silence stretched, turning the room into a powder keg. I looked each of them in the eye, trying to figure out their play. The bulky one on the left had a twitch in his jaw; he was ready to jump. The tall one, standing slightly behind, kept shifting his weight from foot to foot—anxious, maybe? The third guy, he was the one to watch, eyes cold and calculating.

My gut tightened as the camera light flickered back to life with a soft click.

Fuck.

This was a setup.

"Shit, he slipped his cuffs! Neutralize him!" The words echoed off the walls, and my blood ran cold.

They were on me in a flash, batons drawn. There was no time to think, only react. I pushed myself up, my legs restricted by the shackles, but my arms were free, and I wasn't going down without a fight.

The first swing came from the twitchy one, aiming for my head. I ducked, feeling the whoosh of air as the baton missed its mark. I shot out a hand, grabbing his wrist and twisting hard. He yelped, dropping his weapon as I kicked him in the knee. He crumpled to the ground, and I didn't wait to see if he'd get back up.

I pivoted, catching tall-guy's baton mid-swing with both hands. Yanking it from his grip, I swung it like a baseball bat into his ribs. The crack was satisfying, but there was no time to enjoy it.

Cold-eyes was smarter. He hung back, waiting for an opening. He found it when I stumbled, the shackles biting into my ankles. His baton came down fast, but I rolled away, the hit glancing off my shoulder instead of smashing into my skull.

"Come on," I panted, glaring at him. "You'll have to do better than that."

He lunged, baton arcing down in a vicious strike, but I was ready. I caught his wrist, twisting and turning his momentum against him. With a grunt, I pulled him forward, sending him face-first into the wall. His body slumped, knocked out cold.

I barely had time to catch my breath when the door burst open, more guards flooding in. There was no end to them, it seemed. No matter how many went down, more appeared. They came at me, a relentless tide of anger and muscle.

I fought with everything I had—punches, kicks, headbutts. The training my father drilled into me since I could walk paid off. Even shackled, I moved with purpose, striking hard and fast. Each hit I landed was one less baton to dodge, one less set of fists aiming for my gut.

But there were too many.

They kept coming, and I felt the strain in my muscles, the burn in my chest. I took hits, too, each one a heavy thud against my body, pain flashing bright and sharp.

Sweat dripped into my eyes, stinging, and I shook my head to clear my vision. The room spun a little, but I stayed on my feet, defiant. Every second I kept fighting was a second longer I stayed out of whatever hellhole they wanted to throw me into.

But I could only put off the inevitable for so long.

They swarmed me, a human avalanche, and I couldn't hold them back anymore. I went down hard, the cold floor pressing against my cheek. Arms grabbed mine, legs pinned mine, their weight crushing. A fist hammered into my side, another clipped my jaw. Pain exploded in my head, ringing in my ears.

"Get off him!" It was Hayes' voice, sharp as a knife's edge. I could barely see her through the blur of bodies, but I heard the confusion in the room. "What the hell happened?"

"He got loose and attacked us," someone said, breathless from the scuffle.

"Loose?" Hayes' voice was colder now, like ice cracking. "How did he get loose?"

Fuck me… fuck . She’d planned all of this, and now I was going to get sent away.

No one answered right away. I felt the pressure ease as some of the guards backed off, but hands still held me firm to the ground. I didn't try to move; knew it would only earn me more punches…and I didn’t know if I even could move. The adrenaline was wearing off and I was hurting everywhere.

It was bad. They’d really fucked me up.

"Looks like this place isn't secure enough," Hayes said after a moment, her voice carrying over the shuffle of uniforms. "He needs to be transferred."

The word echoed in my throbbing head. Away from Abby, from Justin, Lily…from everything.

"Make the arrangements," Hayes ordered, and I felt the guards haul me up to my feet. My vision swam, but I locked eyes with Hayes as best I could. She looked back, no sign of victory or defeat in her gaze, just the cool assessment of an agent doing her job—or so it seemed.

"Nice play," I rasped, tasting blood in my mouth.

"What are you talking about?" she said, a hint of amusement in her tone. "Just following protocol, Nathan."

I wanted to argue, to fight back, call out her game.

But words were pointless now, drowned in the sea of pain and the shuffling steps that dragged me toward whatever came next.