33. Chapter Thirty-Three Nathan

Chapter Thirty-Three: Nathan

W e slept for a full fourteen hours.

It felt like I was processing all that had happened to me since that fateful night when I’d driven to my parents’ house—the night I’d lost Abby, lost everything. The night I’d watched my father murder my mother.

Since then, I hadn’t gotten a full night’s rest. What sleep I did get was disturbed by frightening ghosts, and by wrestling with my own demons.

Now I was back here, where I belonged, I could finally sleep.

We slept tangled in each other’s arms, waking only once to make love again. The rain poured all night, streaming down the grimy window of our unexpected sanctuary.

Sunlight sneaked past the curtains, nudging me awake. My eyes flickered open to Abby's face inches from mine. She had this half-smile that knew things—things about the night before, things about us. Her fingers combed through my hair, pushing it back like she was making sure I was still real.

"I love you," she said.

"Love you too." It came out rough, like my voice had just woken up along with the rest of me.

I leaned in, pressing my lips to hers in a slow, easy kiss. It wasn't rushed or desperate. It was just…right. I pulled back enough to see her grinning at me, then wrapped my arms around her waist.

"Come here," I murmured.

Without hesitating, she shifted, straddling me…sinking down onto my already-hard cock. Like everything else with us, it just fit. She settled onto me, and I held her close, feeling like this was exactly where we were meant to be.

Right now, nothing else mattered—not the past, not the danger outside; just Abby and me, together.

Abby moved, her hips finding a rhythm over me. I could feel every bit of her, tight and warm around me. My hands found her waist, guiding her as she rode me slow and steady. It was like we were stealing time, just for us.

And damn it, I felt greedy.

"Mine," I breathed out, the word barely there but heavy with everything I felt. Because she was—mine, in a way I never thought I'd have anything or anyone.

Her eyes locked on mine, fierce and soft all at once. "Always," she whispered back, her movements never faltering.

I couldn't get enough of her, my hands roaming over her skin, memorizing the feel of her. This wasn't just about getting off. This was deeper, something that clawed right inside your chest and set up shop.

I lifted her, then pulled her back down, each movement pushing me deeper. She kissed me, and I lost myself to the taste of her lips, the give and take between us. It was just us—the sounds of our breathing, the heat of our bodies.

"God, Abby…" The rest got swallowed up by another kiss.

We kept moving together, a silent promise between us that no matter what lay ahead, this was ours. No one could touch this, this thing we had. It was messed up, considering where we both came from, but it was ours.

A part of me knew I should be thinking about what we had to do today, the risks, the plans. But right then, I didn't care. I just wanted to stay here, keep touching her, keep feeling her against me.

"More," she said, her voice low and needy.

"Anything," I replied, because it was true. Whatever she wanted, whatever she needed, I'd give it to her.

We were in this deep, and there was no going back.

Not that I'd ever want to.

And then she was coming, her pussy squeezing my cock so I came in her too, , her breath hitching as she threw her head back, saying--trying not to scream--my name.

She was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen in my life.

She didn't move off right away, just stayed there on top of me, shifting ever so slightly. It was a moment suspended in time, like it was just us and nothing else. She leaned down, pressed her lips against me and smiled.

"Could do this all day," I murmured against her mouth, feeling the truth of it in every inch of my body.

"Work to do," she reminded me, her voice a whisper of regret.

"Right." I let out a sigh, wishing for more time.

We got up, finding our clothes scattered around the room. I pulled on my jeans and slipped into a t-shirt. Abby stepped into leggings, pulling a cozy sweater over her head. She looked good enough to eat, but the clock was ticking.

We left the room, and the warehouse hit us with its rush of life. The air buzzed with chatter, English and Mandarin mixing together into the soundtrack of the insurgents’ operation. People moved around us, each absorbed in their tasks, while we walked through them.

We spotted Knuckles at the money washing table, his fingers dancing over stacks of bills like he was playing piano. He looked up, caught sight of us, and waved us over with a wry smile.

"Morning, lovebirds. Was starting to think you'd spend all day in bed," he joked as we approached.

"Work first," I shot back, trying not to let him see that he wasn't far off the mark.

"Right. Come on, I've got stuff to show you."

He put down his work and gestured for us to follow, moving toward the room where I’d reunited with my family yesterday. I couldn’t tamp down the curiosity at what I was seeing here—an operation that had clearly been underway for years.

"Tell me," I urged, my curiosity piqued. “What am I looking at right now?”

Knuckles glanced back at us, then at the people milling around. "Years ago, this started small. Taking in folks who had nowhere else to go. Immigrants screwed over by the Serpents, people chewed up by the system," he explained.

“Immigrants?” Abby asked.

“Undocumented folks the Triad smuggles in,” I murmured. “It’s how we got set up in the first place, decades ago. Lost sight of the mission, though.”

“Well, your dad did,” Knuckles said. “Your mom, though? Evelyn…”

He paused, and I could see the pain in his eyes.

“Your mom’s family was old Triad,” he said. “She was interested in tradition. Knew how the game was played, but also knew our op could do some good. That’s what the Vipers were all about.”

“And you’ve been doing this…how long?”

“Ten years,” Knuckles said. "We're playing the long game here, Nathan. Just been biding our time until we can deal with Kenny for good."

"Taking out Kenny Zhou…" I mused, letting the weight of those words settle. There was a time when I would have gutted anyone for saying that about my father—but I wasn’t that man anymore. "It's about damn time."

The smell of coffee hit me first as Knuckles led us back through the maze of dimly lit corridors. We paused at a door that looked like all the others we had passed, save for the faint sounds of cutlery and low conversation seeping out from the edges.

"Before we go in," I said, catching him by the shoulder. "My mother…was she part of this Sisterhood thing from the start?"

"More than that," he replied, looking me straight in the eye. "She's the heart of it. This was her show, Nathan."

I took a moment to let that sink in. My mother, the woman who made dinner every night, who played the perfect housewife, running an operation under everyone’s noses.

It figured.

We stepped into the room, and found my family spread around a few pushed-together tables, plates cluttered with rice and dumplings. It smelled like my mother’s kitchen, making my heart ache. Abby slid her hand into mine, giving it a squeeze as we joined them.

"Grab some grub," Justin said, passing a plate without looking up.

"Thanks," I mumbled, loading it up. Abby did the same, and soon we were munching away with the rest of them.

As I chewed on a dumpling, my eyes wandered over to Justin. He was laughing at something one of the guys said, his face lighting up in that easy way of his. And just like that, a memory flashed in my mind, a sharp contrast to the calm scene before me.

Justin, bloodied and hurt after a bombing.

A bombing that Knuckles had orchestrated.

"Everything okay?" Abby leaned in, her voice low.

"Yeah," I lied smoothly, focusing back on my food. "Just thinking about what's next."

But I couldn’t stop looking Justin, his laughter mixing with the clinking of forks and knives. I stood up, chair scraping back against the floor, and I could feel every eye in the room on me.

"Knuckles," I started, keeping my voice level, "we appreciate your help." He looked up from his coffee, brows raised, waiting. "But now," my fingers tightened around the plate, and it landed with a thud as I set it down, "I want to know why you framed one of my brothers and almost killed another."

The room went silent, all the warmth of breakfast fading into cold hard business. Knuckles put his mug down, slow and deliberate, meeting my stare without flinching.

"Let's talk," he said, and we all knew this wasn't going to be just another family chat.