Page 74 of Deadly Oath

Kian refuses to show me the tickets, wanting to prolong the surprise for as long as possible, but once we reach our gate, I see the destination. “New York?” I turn to him, that excitement growing. I don’t know if we’re going to the city, or to upstate the way I imagined, but when he nods, I can’t help the smile that spreads over my face. As much as I love the idea of a snowy little cabin, a part of me hopes that wearegoing to the city. It’s been a while since I’ve been surrounded by that much civilization, and if I’m being honest, I miss it.

I know Kian isn’t going to tell me, and I don’t actually think I want to know. I’m eager for the surprise, the anticipation building, and I lean into him as we wait, scrolling through my phone and watching the people pass by. Even the airport is busier than anywhere I’ve been recently, and it makes me feel a little more alive, being back in a bustling place like this. As much as I’ve grown to like Rivershade, this is more of what I’m used to.

There’s a tiny bit of fear, underneath it all. I was sent to Rivershade for my protection, and I wasn’t supposed to leave. I don’t know if the Kariyev Bratva is still after me, or if the mafia that kidnapped me might have eyes on me now. But I do know that I trust Kian. He married me to protect me. And I don’t think he would take me on this trip if he didn’t think it was safe.

The flight is incredibly short, only two hours, but the anticipation of getting there makes it feel longer. Kian is tense next to me, a book in his lap that he doesn’t seem to be reading, and I realize that I have no idea how he feels about flying. I’ve never minded it—the concept of it is thrilling, to me, but from the rigid way he’s sitting next to me, I have a suspicion he doesn’t feel the same.

I reach over and touch his hand, gently. “Do you not like flying?” I ask curiously, and Kian looks over at me, his expression harder than usual.

“It’s fine,” he says tautly, and my mouth twists slightly. I have a feeling my husband just told me what I’m pretty sure is the first lie ofour marriage, but I’m not exactly surprised that Kian doesn’t want to admit it, if he is scared.

I curl my fingers around his, but he pulls his hand away. That startles me, and hurts my feelings more than a little, but I press my lips together, not saying anything. He’s clearly not enjoying the flight, which means that it’s all the more romantic that he planned this trip for us in the first place.

Surprisingly, though, he doesn’t seem to relax when the plane finally lands at JFK. He gets the bags out of the overhead as everyone begins to deboard the plane, and his mouth is tense, his jaw tight.It’s just going to take him a minute to relax,I tell myself, trying not to be disappointed that our trip is starting out like this. It’s not as if it isn’t normal to be afraid of flying.

“Is someone picking us up?” I ask as we head out through the airport, and Kian nods, his bag slung over his shoulder and my suitcase in his other hand. “Someone you know?”

He shakes his head, clearly not wanting to give away the surprise. I look around as we step out into the cold November air, glad that I put on my jacket before we got outside, and see that Kian is headed for a black town car at the end of a line of other cars waiting to pick up arrivals.

“Do we have—” My eyes widen as a driver steps out and opens the door for us. “Kian. I didn’t expect this!” My mouth drops open a little as he slides inside, and I follow, the familiar scent of buttery leather and the cool interior of an expensive car sliding over me. With it comes all the memories of my life before this; my chest tightens, and I look over at him, completely caught off guard. “This is so much, Kian. I didn’t expect you to go all out like this.”

He looks over at me, something almost startled in his expression, and I frown, a little confused. “Did you think I expected this?” I ask cautiously, hoping that the answer isno. We haven’t been together long, but I hoped that by now, Kian would know that I’m not so spoiled that I expect things like this.

He pauses, then clears his throat. “No,” he says, a tight smile at thecorners of his lips. “I didn’t think that at all. I wanted to surprise you, that’s it.”

“I’m very surprised. I can’t wait to see where we’re going.” I reach over to take his hand, suddenly nervous that he’ll pull away again, the way he did on the plane. “Are you okay?” I ask tentatively. “You don’t seem as excited about this as I would have thought.”

An almost grim sort of amusement flickers across Kian’s face. “I was thinking the same thing,” he says, and then his jaw tightens, as if he wants to take the words back. “I’m fine,” he adds quickly. “Just thinking about where we’re going, that’s all.”

I press my lips together, still confused. He’s acting strangely, and I don’t know why a surprise that he planned is making him so tense.Unless he’s worried about it all going perfectly. Unless he’s concerned that I won’t like some part of it, or something won’t be right.The thought softens me instantly, making my chest tighten at the thought of him worrying over something like that. I want to tell him that it doesn’t matter, but I doubt that he would admit that’s what he’s thinking. Instead, I just curl my fingers around his, realizing as the scenery slips by that we’re going into the city. We keep driving through Manhattan until the city gives way to larger properties, estates with rolling green lawns and high fences. The car turns down a long, winding driveway, and pulls up to a small guard shack, outside of a high wrought-iron fence that borders one of those estates, with a Gilded Age mansion built out of cream stone taking up the center of it.

I stare at it, more startled than ever. I’m torn between being excited over what might be waiting for us inside, and worried that Kian thought I needed something this extravagant. I can’t imagine that this kind of expense came easily for him. “Kian—this must have been expensive,” I venture. “You really didn’t have to?—”

“Just wait here.” He slides out of the car, and I see him talking to the black-garbed man who steps out of the guard shack. The man nods, and retreats to the small outbuilding, motioning to the driver as the gates open and Kian slides back into the car.

He says nothing as he sits next to me.Anticipating the rest of thesurprise, maybe?Something feels off, but I can’t put my finger on what it is, exactly. This is an extravagant surprise, a honeymoon beyond what I imagined he had planned, and yet, Kian has seemed terse and almost angry since we got on the plane. I’d thought it was just flight anxiety, but this?—

I bite my lip, twisting my fingers together in my lap as the car pulls forward, the iron gates clanging shut behind us. I tell myself that there’s some explanation, that Kian didn’t just go cold overnight, that once we’re settled in, he’ll relax and go back to his normal self. Maybe this is all out of his comfort zone. Maybe he doesn’t like traveling, and this makes him anxious. We don’t actually know each other that well, and that’s never been as clear to me as it is right now.

The car circles around the driveway, pulling up in front of the stone steps that lead to the house. The driver gets out, opening the door on my side and offering me a hand, and I take it gladly, stepping out into the cold November air as Kian slides out behind me.

His hand loops through my arm, pulling me close, fingers curling around my forearm in a tight grip. Almost too tight.

“Kian?” I hear the tremor in my voice as I say his name, the confusion, but Kian leads me forward, up the stone steps to the large black wooden front door. He doesn’t ring the doorbell or use the huge, antique door knocker that’s shaped like a hare’s head, cast in gold. He just reaches down, opening the door as if the house were his, and leads me inside.

The door closes heavily behind him. He lets go of my hand, turning and locking the door, his tall, muscled body blocking the way between me and it as he turns back to face me. It’s the only thing I can think of, because the look on his face turns forbidding, harsh, as if he’s dropped a mask that he’s been wearing for weeks.

Dread washes over me, a sudden, instinctive fear that tells me that something is very, very wrong. That I’ve missed something, something vital, and that I’ve made a terrible mistake in coming here with this man.

“Sabrina.” When he says my name, it’s not just his expression that’s changed. It’s his voice, too. His entirebearing. Gone is the raspy,drawling southern accent, gone is the slightly slouched posture, the approachable stance. He’s stiff, tense, authoritative—a posture I recognize because I’ve seen it all my life in the men I grew up around, in my father and the men who worked for him. It’s the stance of a man with power, a man who won’t be disobeyed, a man who knows he owns not only where he’s standing but everyone around him, too.

And his accent is Irish. Clear as a bell. The voice I’ve heard every day since I’ve met him isn’t his voice at all. In fact, I don’t think a single thing about this man is what I thought I knew, since the day he showed up on my front step.

“What’s going on?” I barely manage the words, my throat tight, my heart pounding. Kian doesn’t smile. He doesn’t even look victorious any longer.

“I think it’s time you found out the truth.”

30

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