Chapter 68: Into My Pocket
Meanwhile, back in the warehouse, April blinked in genuine surprise.
Her usual composure—the one that made her seem untouchable and fearless in front of the most dangerous man in the city—completely cracked.
No one had ever carried her like this. In all her life, through the last and this one, she had never been hooped up into the air like a prized sack of flour.
It was deeply, thoroughly embarrassing.
Yet, as her hands rested awkwardly on his broad, solid shoulders, she had to admit a bizarre fact: it wasn’t entirely uncomfortable.
Nat’s grip was like iron, stabilizing her completely against his massive frame so she didn’t feel the slightest bit unstable.
Still, comfort did not mean consent, and April did not like being handled like a trophy. Especially if she wasn’t being paid to be one.
"Put me down, Mr. Collins," April said, her voice snapping back into its usual calm, demanding tone, though a subtle flush of irritation crept up her neck. "My food cannot digest properly like this."
Nat didn’t budge. He let out another booming, manic laugh, his chest vibrating directly against hers.
The sheer, intoxicating rush of outsmarting the global market—of holding a living, breathing cheat code for reality in his arms—had completely short-circuited his brain’s usual restraints.
"Digest? Little seer, you just saved me enough liquid cash to buy a small country in under an hour, and you’re worried about your dessert?" Nat tilted his head back, his dark eyes flashing with a wild, terrifying brilliance as he looked up at her. "Na-ah. I told you. You’re going right into my pocket."
"I am a human being, not a fountain pen," April retorted flatly, her eyes narrowing as she glared down at his unhinged grin. "And if you squeeze me any tighter, you are going to lose the very ’seer’ who just saved your portfolio. Balance sheets require a clear head, Mr. Collins. Let. Me. Down."
Nat stared at her for a long, intense beat. Any other person would be crying, begging for mercy, or frozen in sheer terror at his sudden physical outburst.
But April just looked annoyed, as if he were an unruly child interrupting her schedule rather than a psychopathic mafia boss who held her life in his hands.
Slowly, the manic edge in his laughter began to settle, though the dangerous, hyper-focused glint in his eyes remained.
With a theatrical sigh, Nat loosened his grip, letting her slide down his towering frame until her sneakers finally touched the cold, dusty concrete floor of the warehouse.
The moment her feet made contact, April immediately stepped back, smoothing down the edges of her clothes with meticulous, elegant strokes, her face a mask of cold displeasure.
Nat didn’t take his eyes off her. He leaned back against nothing, crossing his massive arms over his chest, a predatory yet deeply fascinated smile pulling at his lips.
"You really are something else," Nat murmured, his voice dropping back into that smooth, dangerous register. "April, was it?" He continued. "I did a little check on you and it seems you have Xavier Reed wrapped around your fingers. Up until now, he must be tearing his hair out looking for you. But I think I’m going to keep you around. A partner like you is far too valuable to give back."
April looked completely unbothered by the implicit threat. She glanced at the shattered remains of the dinner table he had violently shoved aside, then looked back up at him, her gaze cool and calculating.
"Whether you keep me around depends entirely on if you can afford my rates, Mr. Collins," she said smoothly. "Now, since the market has concluded its business for the evening... let us discuss our next venture."
Nat let out another roaring, boisterous laugh that echoed violently off the high steel beams of the corrugated warehouse ceiling.
"I’m all for it!" he cheered, his chest still heaving slightly with the lingering adrenaline of the historic financial wipeout. "What brilliance will you bring me this time, little seer?"
But April did not start right away.
She stood her ground on the cold concrete, her posture rigid, looking up into his maddening eyes with a calm that defied the heavily armed men lurking in the shadows around them.
"Mr. Collins, as I stated before, I am not a fountain pen," she said, her voice dropping into a clear, steady rhythm. "Therefore, I am not a piece of property to be owned. Yes, I might be the most valuable person you have ever come across, but it is precisely because I do things my own way that I am still standing here alive."
Nat tilted his head, his sharp jawline shifting as he watched her. The red hair framed his face like a crown of flames under the single hanging light bulb. "What does that mean?"
"It means you will let me go after this reading—with my payment, of course," April said, her tone leaving absolutely no room for debate. "And you, my new client, will not make a mess of things. You will do what the others do: wait your turn, and only come to me when you genuinely need a reading. Like I said before, fortune telling is not a convenient toy that I can pull out every single hour so keep that in mind. And I also choose to have a variety of clients instead of sticking to one. It helps me build connections."
Nat’s lips twitched upward into a cocky grin. "I can get you all the connections you need in this city, sweetheart. Underground or clean corporate. You name it."
April completely ignored the offer. She took half a step forward, forcing him to look down at her directly. "Nat Collins. Do we have a deal?"
The silence that followed was heavy enough to crush a weaker person.
It was a stark, unyielding clash of wills. It was entirely clear that she had absolutely no intention of playing by his rules, and he had no desire to bend to hers.
Nat Collins wanted to keep this walking golden goose or golden pie as she called herself, locked away in his personal cage where no one else could touch her, while April required absolute freedom.
If she was going to survive the fast-approaching apocalypse, she couldn’t be locked away; she needed to continue living her life exactly the way she had planned, collecting resources and expanding her web of influence.
What followed was a brutal, unblinking staring contest.
Neither of them looked away. April’s gaze was as sharp and cold as a polished diamond, while Nat’s eyes burned with a chaotic, unpredictable fire.
They were both intensely stubborn, both absolutely refusing to yield even an inch of ground.
