Deadly Oath

11. Sabrina

11

SAbrINA

I don’t think that I was supposed to like what he did to me. I sit on the couch for several long minutes after the door closes behind Kian, trying to sort through the emotions that are flooding me.

I feel overwhelmed. Kian was right when he said that other men have treated me like glass. Like a prized figurine, a trophy, something to set on a shelf and admire and show off. A prize to be won from my father. I’ve always been an accessory.

I have no idea what any of those men would have been like in bed. I certainly don’t think they would ever have prioritized my pleasure in any way. And Kian did that. He made sure I came before the attention ever turned to him. He was forceful, relentless, and overwhelming—but he put me first.

A shudder runs through me as I think of his hand fisting in my hair, of the way he ordered me around, the things he called me. Princess. Rabbit. Filthy slut . That shudder turns into a tingle, prickling along my skin, heating me from the inside out until I feel aroused all over again.

I’m fairly certain that I shouldn’t like what he did to me, that I should be offended at how he spoke to me, that I should tell him to fuck off and never see him again. But what does it matter, anymore, what I should do? Does anything really matter, other than what I want ?

My carefully planned future is gone. The marriage that might have been arranged for me is gone, too. My father either isn’t looking for me, has been told not to, or I’ve been so well hidden by the FBI that he can’t find me. All that’s left is who I want to be. And I’ve never had the opportunity to find out who that is.

I don’t think Kian and I are going to fall in love. I don’t think that this is going to be more than what it is right now, even if I have that urge, when he touches me, to want to be more to him than this. But I do want him. And I want to find out what else he can make me feel.

Tonight, I found out that pleasure exists that I never imagined was possible. And if I open myself up to what else Kian could show me, there could be so much more that I haven’t imagined.

Everything he did tonight turned me on. Even when I felt like I should fight it, he’s right that I never actually told him to stop—because deep down, I didn’t want him to. I wanted to find out what would happen if he kept going.

A small part of me wishes he’d stayed. But I needed to be alone to work through this. Even if right now, the house feels very quiet and empty after what just happened, now that it’s only me here.

I get up, heading to the bathroom to shower. I can still feel the lingering stickiness of his cum on my face, and I bite my lip, tasting salt. Did I like that? Having him force me to take his cum in my mouth. Splattering my face with it like I was his to use as he pleased?

Just that thought sends another jolt of arousal through me. I like that he treated me like a toy, like I was his to use for his pleasure. If he’d demanded it from the start, I might not have—but he made me come twice, before he used me. And if I’m being honest with myself, every filthy second of it turned me on.

I start the shower, letting the water heat up as I strip my clothes off and toss them into the hamper, along with the washcloth Kian got for me. That was something I hadn’t expected, too. I rejected it at the moment, prickly and unsure of all the things he made me feel, but in the aftermath?—

It was sweet of him. Caring. He’s done other things like that, too, even if he comes off as rough on the exterior. Checking in on me as he made his rounds of the town residents, saving me from the snake, bursting in to help with the fire. All of those things were caring in their own way. And tonight, he prioritized me before himself.

I stand under the hot shower for a long time, washing away all the traces of the evening. I replay the date in my head, everything that happened after he kissed me, and I come back to one conclusion, each time.

I want to see him again. But I’m going to make him squirm, just a little. I liked that feeling of power that I had in the gym, when I kissed him and realized how much he wants me. I want to feel that again.

When the water starts to cool, I get out and dry off, slipping into a comfortable pair of loose pajama pants and a t-shirt. Everything that happened between Kian and me already feels strangely detached, as if it happened days ago instead of not even an hour. It’s so far from what I expected that it’s hard to believe it happened at all.

But I didn’t know what to expect, before. And maybe he should have been more cautious with me, knowing that—maybe he should have been gentler. But that part of myself that I’m still struggling to come to terms with is glad that he wasn’t.

Something rustles outside in the trees, and I jump, so lost in thought that it nearly startles me out of my skin. I stand next to my dresser for a moment, frozen in place, wondering if I should go and look.

I hear the rustling again, louder this time, it seems. There’s that sound like leaves underfoot, and my stomach twists, all my conflicting feelings about Kian vanishing as a knotted, cold fear takes their place. I swallow hard, curling my fingers against my palms as I try to decide what to do.

I have to look . Carefully, though. If someone is outside—that fear grows colder, imagining who it might be. What they might be here to do .

One small, hesitant step at a time, I move towards the window to the left of my bed. It’s a fairly large window, covered by the drapes right now, with a thin sliver between them that I can glimpse the dark glass through. I keep to one side of the window, craning my neck to peer at that sliver of glass, my heart thumping in my chest as if, at any moment, I might see someone’s face appear on the other side.

Caldwell promised they wouldn’t find me. That it would be difficult, if not impossible . But he also told me to blend in, to look like I belong here. Which means it’s not impossible .

My heart is beating so hard that it hurts. I edge closer to the window, leaning up against the wall as I reach out a shaky hand to twitch the curtain back just enough to see if I can glimpse anything outside. An animal, maybe. A fallen branch.

The sounds have gone quiet, but that doesn’t make me feel better. It just makes me wonder if whatever is out there is lying in wait, waiting to spring out. I can feel my fear intensifying, getting worse with every passing moment, and I know I just have to get it over with. I have to look.

Shakily, I twitch the curtain back just a little. Outside, it’s dark in a way that it never was back in Chicago, even on the quiet street where my father’s mansion was. The dark is thick, almost oppressive, out here without streetlamps or traffic or the lights of the city in the distance. There’s just the three-quarters moon, shining down from the clear sky, bathing the trees with dim light in a way that makes them look skeletal.

It sinks in how alone I am here. That feeling presses in on me in a way that it never has before, a reminder that I’m on my own now. No amount of book club friends, no new and exciting fling can change the fact that it’s just me that’s responsible for my survival. And I might be hidden away here, but I’m also vulnerable.

There’s nothing outside that I can see. Minutes tick past as I watch through the crack between the curtains, watching for any kind of movement, a shadow slipping past the trees—anything. There’s no movement and no noise, and I finally retreat back to sit on the edge of my bed, still stiff and tense as I wait to hear something .

When there’s still nothing, I slip under my covers, all of my muscles still wound tight. Lying there staring up at the ceiling, I’m not sure I’m going to be able to fall asleep.

All the limp, boneless feelings that I had after Kian was done with me are gone, my body wound tight as a spring again. I close my eyes, wondering if I’m ever going to feel truly relaxed again. Will I ever be able to sleep without wondering if someone will find their way into my house in the night? Will I ever be able to just live my life, not wondering if danger is stalking me?

I can’t even fully enjoy the one good thing that’s happened to me, because the fears haunting me are always so close behind.

When sleep does finally come, it’s restless and fitful, and I wake feeling like I didn’t really sleep at all. I get up, blearily finding my way to the kitchen for cereal and cold coffee, and as I sit there, I feel a deep-seated urge to go outside and see if there are any signs that someone was outside.

It’s cool and crisp outside, the sky clear and the sun bright. A perfect southern fall day, but I barely notice it as I circle around to the side of the house where my bedroom is, looking for any signs that the noises I hear at night are something other than wildlife or the wind.

At first, there’s nothing. Just the dying grass sprinkled with fallen leaves, twigs, and acorns, with no sign of animal prints or anything else.

And then I see it, my heart freezing in my chest as I stare down at the deep divot in the earth.

There’s a boot print, a few inches from the window at the back wall of my bedroom. A man’s boot print, I think, from the weight of it sunken into the dirt, and the size. I’m no investigator, but it seems clear that a man was outside of my room last night. It looks fresh, only dusted away a little at the edges, a bit damp from the morning dew.

My throat feels so tight that I can’t breathe. I fumble in my pocket for my phone, my fingers gone so numb that I nearly drop it. My first thought is to take a picture of the print, far away and then closer up, but it takes me several tries to open the camera on my phone, my fingers are shaking so badly.

I finally manage to snap two pictures before backing away. I shove my phone back into my jeans, my fingers still trembling as I press my hands to my forehead, trying to think of what to do.

My first instinct, strangely enough, is to send the pictures to Kian. But after what happened between us last night, I hesitate.

He’s already saved me twice. I don’t want him to think that I depend on him—more than that, even, I don’t want to start to actually depend on him. I need to be able to take care of myself.

My second thought is that I should send the pictures to Caldwell. But again, I hesitate. I don’t want to see the FBI agent right now. I’m just starting to settle in—having him come by here, and the possibility of someone seeing him, will only further isolate me from everyone here. And although, as the sheriff, Kian might have some idea of what brought me here—I don’t want him to have a reason to question me further about my past, right now.

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.