26. Chapter Twenty-Six Abby

Chapter Twenty-Six: Abby

I was supposed to have left right after Nathan did…but I’d somehow convinced the guard I’d left something in the private visitation room.

Maybe it was that classic Harper charm–or maybe the FBI training.

Probably both.

I searched through the blankets and under the table, ignoring the stench of disinfectant now mingled with the residual smell of sex. The guard eyed me, his curiosity plain as he gave me the once-over. I knew the look, the question behind his gaze before he even parted his lips to ask.

"Why's a pretty thing like you with a guy like that?"

I forced a smile, sickly sweet, and shrugged. "You know how it is," I said, batting my eyelashes for good measure. "Opposites attract."

He chuckled, buying into the lie of the na?ve girl smitten by the bad boy. I’d worked a little on him before going in to see Nathan. I made sure he knew my entire cover story.

If only he knew the UCLA grad story was just a cover. I wasn’t an art history student…nor was I even an FBI agent, not anymore.

I was a viper.

“Sweetheart, you should find a guy that isn’t locked up,” he said.

I looked him up and down. He had the keys hanging from his belt. Chump. I stalked closer to him, a sweet smile on my face. “What do you suggest then?”

His eyes widened a touch, taken aback by my boldness. "Well, I…" he stammered, his gaze dropping down to his shoes. "I happen to be free."

I laughed, a coquettish sound that echoed in the hollow prison hallway, and leaned in closer. My fingers lightly brushed his arm as I tilted my head to the side, my smile never faltering. "Well now…isn't that something?" I purred. “Maybe I should give nice guys a chance for once.”

His face flushed red and he cleared his throat, adjusting the collar of his uniform with a nervous hand. "Listen…Abby was it? There's better men out there than that one."

I had to hold back the urge to scream at him. “Like I said, opposites attract, officer…what’s your name?”

"Charlie," he replied, a faint blush touching his cheekbones. "Officer Charles Smith."

"Officer Smith," I echoed, letting the name linger on my tongue before a flirtatious smile spread across my lips. "I'll keep that in mind."

"You two must be some opposites," he muttered, but the edge had softened from his voice. He wasn't seeing the agent trained in deception, just a dove-eyed lover lost in the hawk's nest.

"Something like that," I murmured, letting my gaze linger on him longer than necessary.

The guard shifted, his stance relaxing, the earlier suspicion melting away under the warmth of my feigned adoration. He was clueless, unaware that every honeyed word from my lips was a calculated move in a game far deadlier than he could imagine.

Charlie's smile was a little smug now, as if he believed he had fully charmed me, a conquest to brighten his dull shift. It was the opening I’d been waiting for—my cue to turn the tables.

"Officer Smith, can you tell me—" My voice hitched as if choked with emotion, my green eyes wide and glistening. But I wasn't really scared or in love; I was ready, every muscle coiled tight.

"Tell you what?" His voice softened, leaning in closer, oblivious to the storm that was about to hit.

"Can you tell me how you'd feel if this was the last thing you saw today?" I whispered, my tone shifting, the sugar gone, replaced by steel.

He frowned. “What?”

My hand shot out.

Fingers, trained to be both weapon and shield, wrapped around his wrist with the precision of years spent perfecting self-defense techniques. His skin was clammy under my grip, but I didn’t falter.

"Wha—?" The single syllable caught in his throat as I pivoted, twisting his arm just enough to elicit a sharp gasp. With my other hand, I dove for his belt, seizing the ring of keys with a swift yank.

"Sorry, Charlie." There was no time for pleasantries, no room for hesitation. I drove my fist into his face, feeling the crunch against my knuckles, an ugly sound that echoed off the walls. He stumbled back, more from shock than force, his eyes watering as he clutched at his nose.

"God, Abby! What the hell?" he spat out between groans, blood trickling down his lip.

"Nothing personal," I said, almost stepping over his crumpled form. “Neither is this.”

I brought my elbow down hard on the back of his neck, and he crumpled like a puppet with its strings cut. His body hit the floor with a muffled thud, unconscious before he even realized what was happening.

I stood there for a moment, looking down at him, the image of a girl out of her depth replaced by a hardened federal agent. A wave of guilt washed over me, but I shook it off just as quickly. It was necessary, just part of the job.

He was alive. He would come to eventually.

Time to disappear before anyone noticed the shift change gone wrong.

I undressed him quickly and methodically, putting on his clothes and then locking him in the private room. I was the lynchpin in this–one of these keys led to the staff exit, and I had to get it through the riot and to Nathan and Knuckles.

Nathan should be moving through the kitchen right about now…around the riot, with any luck. Knuckles had said he would grab him, and Jack would meet us outside. Then, Alex would organize a getaway car.

This all had to go perfectly according to plan.

Then we could start figuring out what to do about Kenny.

The keys in my pocket felt like they weighed a ton as I walked down the hall, following the sound of shouting voices, screams, crashes. I could do this–I was a good fighter. I tucked my hair under the guard’s cap, squaring my shoulders.

“Alright, baby,” I muttered, rubbing my stomach, suddenly more afraid than I would’ve liked. “We’ve got this.”

I stepped into the mess hall…and then I was in the thick of it. Around me, the air was dense with shouts and the stench of sweat and anger, but I didn't stop to engage. I dodged flailing limbs and sidestepped brawlers, my pulse racing a relentless staccato against my ribs.

I cut around the edge of the riot, taser ready at my left hand, club at my right. I didn’t want to use them–it would draw more attention to me than I wanted–but I was a woman here and I couldn’t depend on Knuckles and Nathan getting me out of this. The riot was a beast, and I was in its belly, trying not to be digested. My heart pounded against my chest as if trying to escape the madness, my breaths short and uneven.

Then, like a lighthouse cutting through fog, I saw Nathan.

He was standing behind the buffet counter with Knuckles, the two of them fighting off other men. He seemed to see me at the same time I saw him, and then he was moving toward me, fists flying.

It seemed insane, but I’d never seen him fight–or, at least, I’d never seen him fight anyone else . We’d brawled in his house when he discovered my secret, of course, but beyond that…

I’d never seen him do this.

And he was glorious .

He turned and wove through the crowd, dropping people in a line toward me. When he got close enough, he extended his arm…and then he grasped mine, pulling me through. I stepped over prisoners, into his arms.

Safe. We were safe.

For now.

“We need to move,” he commanded.

I nodded. “I know.”

We moved, darting past flailing fists and dodging debris. The crowd was a living entity, unpredictable and wild, but Nathan's presence was grounding. When a bottle flew dangerously close, his hand shot out reflexively, his protective instinct on full display.

"Watch it," he murmured, his gaze never leaving our path.

"Thanks," I breathed out, grateful yet again for his fierce protectiveness. In moments like these, his reputation for ruthless violence seemed distant; he was just Nathan, and I was just Abby, and we were both fighting for something beyond ourselves.

For our future.

Our baby.

And as much as it surprised me…for the Serpents.

As we neared the staff exit, he glanced back at me, his expression softening for a fraction of a second before hardening into steel once more. He was about to pull away, to ensure my safety even if it meant putting himself in danger.

"Don't," I said sharply, gripping his arm tighter. "Together."

He hesitated, the tension in his muscles betraying his conflict. And then he nodded, that silent promise binding us as we plunged into the uncertainty ahead. I fumbled with the keys, but only for a minute. Soon, we were out.

Our sprint to freedom was a mad dash against the clock, the courtyard's chaos closing in like walls in a shrinking room. I dodged an elbow here, a swinging punch there, Nathan's hand an iron clamp around mine, never letting go.

"Almost there," he grunted, his voice barely audible over the roar of the crowd.

But our path was a maze with no clear exit, bodies pressing in from all sides, each step forward bought with sheer force. In the thick of the fray, we were just two more souls caught in the storm, desperately seeking the calm of open skies.

Then, like a sharp turn in a dark narrative, Knuckles and his crew crashed into the scene. It was as if they tore through the fabric of the riot itself, their presence a sudden calm in the eye of the hurricane. Knuckles, surveyed the pandemonium with eyes that had seen—and orchestrated—a hundred chaotic nights like this one.

"Keep moving!" Knuckles roared, razor-sharp focus cutting through the disorder. His men moved like cogs in a well-oiled machine, their actions speaking a language of violence and precision–some in prison clothes, some in guard uniforms, and others in street clothes. They created a bubble of space in the choking press of the riot—a brief respite where breaths could be drawn and plans made.

"Split up," Knuckles commanded, his voice a beacon amid the bedlam. In a fluid motion, he pulled a small object from his jacket and tossed it to Nathan. The satellite phone landed in his palm with the weight of hope—the promise of a lifeline in this anarchic world.

Nathan caught it without missing a beat, his fingers wrapping around it with practiced ease. "Got it," he said, briefly meeting Knuckles' gaze before turning to me. His look was one of unspoken determination; whatever lay ahead, we were in it together.

"Let's move," Nathan said, his hold on my hand tightening once more. With a final nod to Knuckles, whose attention had already shifted back to commanding his gang, we wove our way through the madness, inching ever closer to the elusive safety beyond the courtyard's grasp.

And then…

…oh my god.

We were free.