Page 72 of Deadly Oath

I grin at her, the upper hand mine once again. “Now that,” I tell her, “is a surprise.”

—

I havea fight in the evening, and I’m glad. I need space, time to get my head back on straight, and a way to work out the tension thatseems to have climbed into my bones despite the night I spent with Sabrina in bed. I brought over some more of my things after work, along with coffee supplies and some groceries, and the look on Sabrina’s face twisted something in my chest again. It was that same look she gave me when I took her out to dinner, or fixed her front step, or brought her the ring. A look that said I was the first person to take care of her in a long time.

That feeling will bring me nothing but trouble, if I let it.

And it already is. The bets on me are high tonight, after the last two fights I had, where I barely took a hit before knocking my opponent to the dirt. But tonight, I’m just as off as I felt this morning. The man opposite me—smaller than me, wiry and quick—gets in a blow to my ribs before I can dodge him, and then one to my jaw, another to my nose. He hits me hard and fast, and a bloom of rage ignites in my chest, threatening to overwhelm me far past the point of what’s appropriate in a place like this. The kind of rage that I need to keep a leash on, lest it make me do something I might regret.

These fights are unsanctioned, technically probably illegal, but what’sdefinitelyillegal is actually killing a man in one. And as the sheriff, I shouldn’t be even participating in this, let alone beating a man to death.

I think the man fighting me sees that glint in my eyes after he sends blood spurting from my nose, the violence that ignites in me. He falters, staggering back, and that’s when I go in on him.

That one faltering moment will cost him the fight. I hit him in the jaw, the stomach, the side, a swift uppercut sending him reeling back into the ropes. I don’t let up until my fists are sprayed with his blood, and he’s sagging down to the dirt, moaning as he curls into himself, one hand protecting the side of his head.

When ten seconds pass, and he doesn’t get up, I force myself to back off. This man isn’t responsible for my temper, and he certainly doesn’t deserve to end his life as a pulpy mess in a stuffy warehouse. But right now, all I want is blood.

I pivot before he starts to get up and I give in to the urge to put him back down, collecting my cash on the way out. When I get backto Sabrina’s house—ourhouse now, I suppose—all the lights are off, and I’m relieved that she’s probably asleep. I’ll be able to clean up my injuries, shower, and get some rest. In the morning, maybe my mood will have passed. Maybe I’ll feel more like myself again. Back in control.

I walk quietly through the house to the bathroom, only flipping the light on once I’m inside and the door is shut. My face is a mess—nose purpling, dried blood caking beneath it, and over my lip, which is swollen. It’s not the only injury, either, and I have a feeling that I’m going to be in here for a bit, cleaning up.

I start with my ribs, working my way up. The blood there is the other man’s, not mine, although I can see where I’m already starting to bruise. I’m so focused on cleaning up that I don’t even notice theclickof the door opening until I see Sabrina out of the corner of my eye, and I jump a little, startled.

“Boo.” She looks up at me, blonde hair tousled, in her silky sleep shorts and tank top.My wife.

Her teasing smile turns concerned the moment she takes in the state of my face. “Kian.” She whispers my name, her voice full of worry that I know I don’t deserve. “I’ve never seen you come back from a fight like this before. What happened?”

I shrug, trying to play it off as if it’s nothing. “I was distracted.”

Her forehead creases, and she bites her lip. “Because of me?”

“No.”Yes. “Just had an off night, that’s all.”

Sabrina moves closer, into the small bathroom with me. “Sit down,” she says, motioning to the edge of the tub. “I’ll help.”

That tightness in my chest again. “I’m fine,” I tell her, more curtly than I probably needed to. “I can handle it.”

“I’m your wife. Let me take care of you.” Her voice is insistent, and she wedges herself between me and the sink, looking up at me. “Kian. Let me.”

I should tell her no, again. I should tell her to go back to bed. This is an intimacy we don’t need, another thing to shake my footing. But instead, I find myself backing down, retreating to the tub, sinking down onto the edge of it.

When Sabrina leans down, gently starting to wipe at the crusted blood, I can’t help but try to remember the last time someone touched me like this. Gently. Caring.Lovingly,almost, and the word twists around my heart.

I can’t recall. Maybe when my mother was still alive. Maybe my sister, at some point. But I can’t seem to find those memories, and I find myself leaning into Sabrina’s touch, a sense of comfort washing over me that I can’t recall the last time I felt, either.

I should pull away. But I let her touch me, because it soothes me. And at this moment, despite all the reasons why I shouldn’t—I let myself be soothed.

I let myself feel a moment of peace.

29

SABRINA

As I stare down at the timer on my phone, counting down from five minutes, my heart beats hard in my chest.

Five. A fitting number for what’s happening. It’s been five days since my wedding, after all. Five days since I married Kian Brady. Four since he moved into my house, making itours. Since he came home from one of his fights, and I took care of him like a wife. It made me feel more like one than our wedding night did, even. Maybe even more than the ceremony. It made me feel like he was mine, a little bit, just as all the things he’s done to me in bed have made me his.

Three days that he’s fucked me every night, in the bed that’s ours now, too. Three nights that he’s fallen asleep with me, the first time I’ve ever shared a bed with anyone. I like it more than I thought I would, the feeling of Kian’s warm, solid body next to mine, his arm over my waist, something for me to burrow into, to feel safe with.

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