Page 75 of Deadly Oath

SABRINA

“The truth?” I squeak, my heart jolting into my throat. I take a step back, feeling myself start to tremble, panic clawing at me with sharp, biting fingers. “Kian, what are you talking about? What is this—why are you?—”

He starts to speak, seems to think better of it, and then steps forward, his hand closing around my arm. “We’ll talk upstairs. I’ll show you to your accommodations first. You might as well see where you’ll be staying, until I’m done with you.”

“Until you’re—Kian, stop!” I nearly scream it, trying to jerk out of his grip, my chest tightening with fear until I feel like I can’t breathe. I still can’t get past his voice, his accent, how I’ve heard him speak to me day after day, and he never sounded like this. “Kian?—”

“The harder you fight me, princess, the harder you’re going to make this.”

“Don’t call me that!” I snap, rearing back again, and Kian chuckles darkly. As much as I never liked that nickname, the last thing I want is to hear him use it now, like this.

“There’s that fire I recognize. Would you rather I call you lass? Or bitch? There’s a good one. I can throw you over my shoulder and carry you upstairs, or you can come along like a good girl. You’venever had any problem being a good girl for me before, have you?” He raises an eyebrow with a sneer, and shame washes over me, my face burning red at the memory of every degrading thing I ever did with him,forhim, because I thought we were doing it together.

Now, it’s all reframed in an instant, and I don’t even know why.

“Tell me what’s going on,” I plead, still digging in my heels, and Kian laughs.

“You beg so prettily,wife. But no. We’ll do this my way. Are you coming along easily, or do I have to do this the hard way?”

I set my lips in a thin, mulish line, anger now warring with fear and confusion, and Kian shrugs.

“The hard way, then.”

He steps forward, and before I can dart away, scoops me up and throws me over his shoulder as if I weigh nothing, exactly as promised. I twist in his grasp, trying to get away, not even really caring if I end up falling and hitting the marble floor by doing so. But his muscled arm is locked tightly around me, and no amount of kicking at his stomach and pounding my fists against his back seems to make a difference.

He carries me to the twisting, black-banistered staircase, up it the whole way, seemingly completely careless of my efforts to get away. He doesn’t even say anything, staying silent all the way up to the third floor, where he walks down a dark wood-floored hall to a door at the very end, opens it with his free hand, and walks inside before locking it behind us and setting me down.

Before I can stop myself, I lunge forward, slapping him across the face with every bit of my strength. It connects, and thecrackof my palm against his cheek is momentarily satisfying before the burn of it runs up my arm, and Kian smirks at me as he shakes it off. It’s clear that I hurt myself more than I hurt him.

“Feel better now, princess?”

I glare at him, and he returns it right back. “That wasn’t much in the way of a slap,” he adds. “I’ve had harder hits. You cleaned me up from some of them, not all that long ago.” That smirk is still on his lips, as if the memory amuses him somehow.

“And you let me.” My chest tightens, remembering that night. How I’d hated seeing him hurt. How I’d wanted to take care of him, a gesture of affection, even if we hadn’t spoken any words to that effect to each other yet. “Why would you do that, Kian? Why?—”

“I’ll tell you now that you’re here.” He shoves his hands into his pockets, pinning me with that dark glare that looks very much like hate—except I can’t imagine why. I can’t imagine what I’ve done to make this man hate me. Nothing makes sense any longer, and I have no idea how much of the last weeks have been a lie.

All of it, maybe.

“We’ll start with the easiest part—I’m not Kian Brady. My last name is McNeill.” He says it flatly, and I wince, the revelation that this simplest part of him was a lie, feeling like a slap in my own face. I have no idea how many more hits I’m going to be expected to take.

“Even yournamewas a lie?” I whisper, and Kian snorts.

“As if you have any right to judge that, SabrinaMiller.”

“That wasn’t my choice!” My voice rises instantly, that anger sparking again. “I wastakenaway from my home. I wasforcedto hide in Rivershade, to change my name, to leave everything behind. I didn’t change it and lie for some—some—” I break off, because I still don’t understand what’s happening. What Kian’s purpose in all of this is,whyhe’s done this.

“Oh, I know perfectly well what happened to you, princess. I know why you had a different last name, why you were in Rivershade, and what you were running from. I’ve known it all along.” He looks far too pleased with himself, and for a moment, I’m itching to try to slap him again. But I don’t, because I doubt the second attempt will have any better effect, and I don’t want to risk him tying me up. The last thing I want is to be restrained while all of this is happening.

“You knew?” I bite my lip, fighting through the tangle of emotions welling up in me. There are too many to sort through, it feels like—anger and betrayal and hurt, confusion and fear and…I don’t even know how to put a name to all of them. I’m furious at being lied to and terrified of what happens next, unsure of what’s going on… on top of all of that, I can feel my heart breaking, because my feelings for Kianwere real.Arereal—they can’t be destroyed that quickly, no matter how complete his betrayal is. “I don’t understand. Is this about my father? Are you working for the Kariyev family?”

Kian snorts. “Fuck no. Like bloody hell would I ever do a goddamned thing for them.”

He curses differently, too. Nothing about him is the man I knew. And yet?—

There’s something off about this, too. I can see a hesitation in him every time he speaks. Something behind the anger as he looks at me, something almost like uncertainty. I tell myself to look for the reason for that, to try to exploit it. It might be my only way out of this.

“Just tell me what’s going on. Please.” I don’t care if I sound like I’m begging. I need to understand. “Did I meet you before that day you showed up on my front step? Did I forget? What did I do to you—I don’t understand why you’re so angry at me.”

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