Deadly Oath

12. Kian

12

KIAN

P ain 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 I like 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 temptation of quick relief making itself known. But it will be so much better if I wait to come inside of her.

Grabbing my phone, I scroll quickly down to her name, typing out a message as I sink down onto the bench.

Kian: I want to see you. I’ve been giving you space, but I can’t wait. Can I come over?

It’s direct and to the point—maybe too much so, but I can’t think straight enough right now to formulate something better. The screen is dark for several long moments, and I start to wonder if she’s just going to ignore me. If that first night was too much, and she’s decided to ghost me until I forget about her altogether.

As if that’s even possible.

I can no more forget Sabrina than I could forget my own name.

My phone buzzes, and I swipe up on the screen, ignoring the painful jolt in my hand. Sabrina’s name shows up, and my chest tightens—along with my cock.

Sabrina: Yes. Come over.

Sabrina: I wanted to see you, too.

I’m up off of the bench in a split second, heading towards my truck. The sane part of my mind is shouting somewhere in the back of it that I should go home first, that I need to get cleaned up before I go to see Sabrina. The princess nickname is mostly to get under her skin, but I’m not sure what her actual reaction will be if I show up on her doorstep with another man’s crusted blood on me. She might throw me out, and then what? Either I refuse to go, or I end up at home coming into my fist, anyway.

My entire body reacts to that thought, revolting against it with every fiber of myself. It’s more than just a want—I need her tonight. I need to claim what I’ve decided was mine.

I start up the truck with every intention of heading home first, getting a shower, and putting on clean clothes that aren’t my workout shorts and a t-shirt. But halfway there, I realize I didn’t head towards my house at all.

I’m headed for Sabrina’s, and by the time I realize it, I can’t bring myself to turn around. It feels like a magnet, like hooks sunk into me and pulling me towards her, and I find myself stepping down on the gas instead, speeding up in an urgent effort to get to her faster. I’m rock hard, my body tight with an insistent need that feels as if it’s taken me over, and I veer into her driveway when it appears, killing the engine the moment the truck rolls to a stop.

I take the steps up to her door two at a time, trying the knob even though I know it’s going to be locked. To my surprise, it gives, and I realize she must have unlocked it once she knew I was on my way over.

Somehow, that only intensifies the desire pounding through my veins. I shove the door open, closing it hard behind me, only to look up and see Sabrina walking out from the kitchen, a nervous look on her face.

“I heard your truck,” she says slowly, and a shiver runs down my spine as I see her teeth graze over her full, pink lower lip. Her gaze sweeps over me, taking me in, and a look of fearful concern replaces the worry. “Kian, what happened?—”

Something snaps inside of me, that roaring in my ears blocking out anything else she might say, and I cross the room in three quick strides, my arm going around her waist as I pull her up against me, my other hand in her hair as I tug her head back.

And then, not caring about the painful cut on my mouth, I crush my lips against hers.