Page 55 of A Promise of Forever
Sterling juts out his bottom lip without hesitation, revealing the bond mark that's still slightly swollen and tender.
Officer Chen just stares for a moment, something like shock crossing his professionally neutral expression. Seeing a bond mark on someone who was allegedly kidnapped and coerced must be making him reconsider everything Wilson has been claiming.
"If you have anything else, call next time rather than showing up unannounced," I say firmly, already moving to close the door. "My Omega has answered your questions. The investigation intoWilson's false claims can proceed without further harassment of Sterling."
I close the door before the officer can respond, immediately turning my full attention to Sterling. He's breathing too hard, the start of a full panic attack visible in his rapid breathing and glazed eyes.
"Breathe, little dove," I murmur, pulling him against my chest and letting my scent surround him. "Just focus on breathing with me. In through your nose, hold it, out through your mouth. That's perfect, keep going just like that."
It takes several minutes of guided breathing before Sterling can form words again. When he does, what he says makes cold dread settle in my stomach.
"They all smelled like him," Sterling gasps out. "Like Wilson. They're working with him or right next to him in the department, I don't know. But his scent was all over them."
The information confirms my worst suspicions. Wilson has other officers helping him, covering his tracks and potentially providing information about our household and Sterling's location. We're not just dealing with one corrupt cop; we're dealing with someone who has authority and a lot more reach than I planned.
"Maybe we should do something different," I suggest, an idea forming as I look at Sterling's terrified face and shaking hands. "Come with me."
I lead him toward the basement stairs, and Sterling clings to me with growing confusion and fear. "Why are we going down here?"
"To show you that there's a way to hurt without being hurt," I explain, opening the door to reveal my private gym. "To show you there's a way to let out all those emotions safely, the very same way I learned to when I was younger. And if it doesn'twork, we can go back to the cottage and I can just hold you. But I don't think that's what you need right now."
Sterling shakes his head, confirming my assessment. He doesn't want to be held and comforted like a fragile thing. He wants to do something with all the rage and fear churning inside him.
The gym is well-equipped but clearly personal rather than commercial. Heavy bags, speed bags, free weights, and padded mats create a space designed for solitary violence rather than social exercise. This is where I come to clear my head after things go wrong at the club, where I learned to channel my Valla instincts into controlled outlets.
I outfit Sterling in boxing gloves, adjusting the fit carefully to make sure they won't damage his small hands. "This is where I've been coming for years when I need to work through things I can't process any other way. Especially after situations at the club that require violence and hype up my adrenaline."
Sterling approaches the heavy bag cautiously and throws a few light punches that barely make it move. He's holding back, afraid of his own strength or worried about doing it wrong.
"I know you've got more power in you than that, Sterling," I say encouragingly, holding the bag steady to give him a solid target. “Wilson isn't here. He can't hurt you for fighting back. Let yourself actually hit it."
Sterling throws a harder punch, and relief washes across his face as the impact reverberates through the bag. He throws another, then another, gradually putting more weight and emotion behind each strike.
"Better," I praise him, adjusting his stance and wrist placement to prevent injury. "Keep your wrist straight, power comes from your whole body, not just your arm. That's perfect."
We continue like that for several minutes, Sterling gradually working himself up to genuine anger against the bag. Hisbreathing becomes harder, sweat starting to bead on his forehead, and I can feel through the bond how cathartic this is for him.
Then Sterling winds up for a particularly hard punch and accidentally connects with my jaw as I lean in to adjust the bag position. The impact isn't hard enough to actually hurt me, but it's unexpected enough to make my head snap to the side.
Sterling freezes immediately, horror flooding his expression. "Oh god, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to hit you, I wasn't trying to—"
I laugh, the sound echoing in the small place. "Sterling, I'm perfectly fine. You barely touched me, and even if you had hit me harder, I can take it."
I help him understand through gentle touches and reassurance that he hasn't done anything wrong, that accidental contact during training is normal and expected. When he finally relaxes again, I lean in for a sweet kiss that gradually turns spicier as the adrenaline from training mingles with other kinds of tension.
That's when I catch his scent again, the strange honey sweetness that's been appearing throughout the day. It's even stronger now, mixed with his arousal until it's nearly overwhelming.
I pull back from the kiss, studying his face with concern. "Are you feeling alright?"
Sterling looks confused by the question. "Yeah, why wouldn't I be?"
"Just asking," I deflect, not wanting to worry him if nothing is actually wrong. "You want to try hitting the bag again?"
"Yeah," Sterling agrees, his enthusiasm returning.
I step off to the side while Sterling starts punching the leather again, pulling out my phone to finally return Caelan's calls. My brother answers on the first ring.
"About fucking time," Caelan teases. "I've been trying to reach you for hours."
