Page 29 of Deadly Oath

Kian is my present. An escape from everything that’s happened to me before this. Something normal to help me become the kind of person I’m supposed to be, in this new life. I don’t want my old one tainting this.

And another, small part of me admits the last reason that I don’t want to send these pictures to anyone.

I don’t want to admit that it might have caught up with me here. I don’t want this to be real. And if I tell Kian, or Caldwell, it’s real. Caldwell might even leave security here for me, which is the absolute last thing that I want.

Maybe it was just someone cutting through my yard,I tell myself, searching for some reasoning that isn’t the worst possibility.Taking a shortcut. Maybe someone got lost, and walked to the wrong house.

I can wait and see if it happens again, I decide. If there are more noises followed by more strange tracks, I’ll tell Kian or Caldwell.

Until then, I’m going to hope that it meant nothing.

And I’m going to try to keep moving forward with my life.

12

KIAN

Pain ricochets through my body as bare knuckles strike the side of my face, sending me reeling back. For the first time in three rounds, since this fight started, my opponent has gotten a hit in.

I’ll give him the one. After all, his nose is already bleeding, and I’m pretty sure I’ve cracked one of his ribs. Maybe two. I can allow him one strike.

The pain almost feels good, cutting through the tangle of emotion that I’ve been struggling with for the past two days with a sharp precision that makes me feel clearheaded for the first time since I left Sabrina’s house. I suck in a sharp breath, shaking my head as blood spatters the floor of the ring, and I charge my opponent.

The meaty sound of my fist hitting his hard stomach fills my ears. His grunt and groan of pain follow, and I feel a singing in my blood, a sense of satisfaction as I hit him again, sending him reeling back towards the ropes. The crowd around us is cheering, shouting my name, shouting his, and placing last-minute bets. Pushing in against the ropes to get closer to the violence that’s feeding them what they came here for.

It didn’t take me long after I moved here to find the sort of fights Ilike to take part in. No official organizations or safety codes, or even any real rules. Just bare knuckles and blood, cash passed from hand to hand, and an outlet to get the anger and tension simmering in my gut throughout the weeks I’ve been here out in some fashion.

This fight is my first here. The odds on me were low to win, since no one who frequents this warehouse out in the backwoods knows me. But after tonight, that’s going to change. It’s almost disappointing—there’s something just as thrilling about coming out of nowhere. Surprising my opponent, when I take them down.

Just like the man in front of me. He bounces against the ropes as my fist slams into his face, hard enough that I expect he’ll have some weakened teeth after this. My bare hand is spattered with blood as I hit him again, breaking his nose, and I feel another satisfied shiver as I feel it crack and give beneath the force of my fist.

The man slumps down, limp as the ponytail he pulled his hair into before the fight, his skin gone waxy. I count to ten as I hover over him, waiting to hit him again if he tries to rise, but he’s out. Knocked out cold.

I back up, raising my fists to the cheers of the crowd. I hear a smattering of displeasure from the people who lost money, but even most of those who lost tonight—a fair number, considering no one actually thought I would win—are raucously shouting their encouragement, anyway. Most of the crowd is here for the entertainment, it seems, not necessarily the winnings.

My blood is pounding in my ringing ears as I stagger out of the ring, taking the cash that the bookie shoves into my hand, my portion of the winnings from my victory. I head blindly for the back door of the warehouse, towards the makeshift “locker room” outside. It’s nothing more than a shed with a mirror and a few benches, but it’s empty right now, and that’s what I need.

I’m not even registering the pain right now. I can taste the blood on my mouth, and when I look down at my hands, I see where the bare skin of my knuckles is split, bruised, and bloody. But my adrenaline is running too high to feel it.

What would Sabrina think if she saw me now?

The moment she enters my mind, it’s like throwing gasoline on a fire. I haven’t spoken to her since our date two days ago, telling myself every time the temptation to text her, call her, or drive by her house arises that it’s better to give her a little space, for now. That if I don’t let her cool off after what we did together, she’ll run away, and then I’ll have to decide what I’m going to do from there.

But right now, I’m far from in control. The adrenaline of the fight is pumping through my veins, my cock is already half-hard from the thrill of the blood and violence, and my body is demanding more. I just finished fighting, and now I want to fuck.

It’s always been like this. Fights have always turned me on, left me half-hard and horny as hell from the minute I stagger from the ring. But usually, there’s an easy outlet for that. I’ve lost count of the number of times a woman has followed me from the ring back to whatever makeshift area has been set up for the fighters, how many times I’ve fucked some woman over a bench or up against my car in the dark parking lot. I’ve long thought those orgasms, fueled by violence and the rush of winning, were the best I’d ever have.

Now, the best orgasm I’ve ever had was coming on the face of an innocent virgin giving me a clumsy blowjob, and I’ve spent every day since in a state of half-arousal, trying to stave off the need for more.

I want her. Tonight.I won, and as I lean against the wall outside the shed and look down at the other man’s blood crusting my knuckles in the faint moonlight, I want a prize. I want the thing I’ve been chasing since I found out who Sabrina Miller was.

I want her.

My cock throbs, stiffening against the silky fabric of my shorts, and that just brings back other, equally arousing memories of her in the gym, being kissed for the first time as I ravaged her mouth.

Sabrina’s virginity is mine to take. Mine to claim. And tonight, I want to make good on that promise.

I pivot, striding into the makeshift space as I reach down and adjust my cock with one hand, feeling it throb against my palm. The urge to stroke myself to a quick, messy orgasm flares up, the temptationof quick relief making itself known. But it will be so much better if I wait to come inside of her.

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