Deadly Oath

23. Sabrina

23

SAbrINA

I fell asleep so hard after my punishment that I didn’t really have time to think about how it made me feel. But when I open my eyes some time later, feeling groggy and sore, a rush of embarrassment quickly follows the memory of what happened.

Kian punished me. As if he has any right to tell me what to do, as if he’s someone I’m supposed to obey. As if I belong to him, a refrain that he repeats in bed—but one that I thought was just dirty talk. Something he said because it got him off—and, if I’m being honest, me as well. But after this, it feels like it goes deeper than that.

I shift against the mattress, sitting up slowly, and suck in a breath at how sore I am, inside and out. My ass feels bruised, my pussy aching from Kian’s rough fucking, but the memory of it makes my heart beat a little faster, my breath catching in my chest.

I liked it. No matter how humiliated I might feel after the fact, no matter how mad I might be that he thinks he has any right to ‘punish’ me, I got off on what he did. Just the memory makes me squeeze my thighs together, makes me feel a rebellious temptation to disobey some instruction of his again, so I can feel that mixture of pain and pleasure that the belt gave me.

Slowly, I slide out of bed, testing my muscles. I’m stiff from the hours of being tied to that chair, sore from what Kian did, and still sticky from the latter. I want another shower, and while I’m not sure if Kian is still here as he promised he would be, I’m inclined to go clean up before I find out.

The hot water feels blissful. I stand under it for a long time, letting it soak into my tight muscles, wondering if Kian is actually still here. I wouldn’t be surprised if he just left. He got what he wanted, didn’t he?

But this time, there was something more intense about him. A shudder runs through me, thinking of the blood and violence of earlier today, the gunshots and screams, the utter ruthlessness with which he saved me from my kidnappers. He was furious with me afterward, and as much as I want to argue that I’m not his to punish—I can see his point, to a certain extent.

What I did was stupid—I can admit that now. And I put him in danger. I think of something having happened to him, of him having been hurt or worse, trying to rescue me, and my stomach tightens uncomfortably. If that had happened, it would have been my fault.

I should apologize to him, I think, as I get out and dry off, pulling on a pair of leggings and a comfortable long-sleeved shirt. I tried, earlier, but he was too focused on my punishment to really listen. With his anger worked out, if he’s still here, maybe he’ll listen now.

The scent of what smells like bacon as I step out of the bathroom is my first hint that Kian is still here. I follow it all the way to the kitchen, where I find him standing at my stove, wearing jeans and a long-sleeved henley, barefoot with his sleeves rolled up as he pushes bacon around a pan. There are eggs on the counter in a bowl, waiting to be scrambled, and a plate with a pile of pancakes covered in melting butter.

Kian turns the moment I walk in, his expression smooth. “Feel better?” he asks, and when I hesitate, he smirks. “Other than how sore I left you.”

“Yes, on both counts,” I tell him tartly, wincing as I go to sit in one of the chairs by the table. His smirk only deepens, and I glare at him, resting my elbows on the edge .

“I thought you didn’t cook, either,” I remark, and Kian chuckles.

“Remember, I said I could only cook breakfast. And since you seemed to like breakfast for dinner when I took you to the diner, I figured this was a win/win.”

“Did you go out and get groceries?” I frown at the array of food on the countertop. “I know I didn’t have all of that already.”

“I did.” He pours the eggs into a skillet, the sizzling scent of spices and butter filling the air. I breathe in, feeling my stomach rumble. It occurs to me that I haven’t eaten in nearly two days, and with that realization, I’m suddenly ravenous.

Kian must see it in my face, because he takes another plate out, putting two pancakes on it and a few slices of bacon, and bringing it to me with a bottle of syrup. “Eat,” he says abruptly. “We have things to talk about, but not with you foggy on an empty stomach.”

I frown at him, reaching for the syrup bottle, and thanking my lucky stars that I no longer need to obsess over my jeans’ size as much as I used to. I’m ready to devour anything he puts in front of me, at this point. “Kian, I know you’re angry with me?—”

He shakes his head sharply. “I’m not talking about that,” he says. “Yes, I was angry with you. You fucked up, Sabrina. You disobeyed me, and you got yourself in trouble, and you could have been badly hurt. You could have gotten me hurt, and my men, and any number of others. But that’s done with. I punished you, and I don’t think you’ll do it again.” His mouth quirks upwards slightly. “Unless you liked your punishment so much that you try to piss me off again. But I promise you, the second time won’t be so enjoyable.”

I flinch, but something stirs deep in my stomach, a curiosity about what exactly that might be. I look at my plate instead, not wanting Kian to see how easily he can manage to turn me on. I don’t want to give him the satisfaction, not right now.

“So, what do we need to talk about?” I ask finally, and he turns back to the stove without answering, making himself a plate and bringing the pan of eggs over to scoop some onto mine. He pours two glasses of orange juice—something else he must have bought, because I didn’t have it before—and sets them down as he sits in the chair to my right.

“Do you believe me now, that I have some idea of what’s going on here?” Kian asks, a small thread of irritation in his voice that I can tell he’s doing his best to quell. “That I only had your safety in mind when I told you to stay home, because I was looking into these men poking around your house?”

I swallow hard. “Yes,” I admit. “I’m sorry, Kian?—”

He shakes his head. “We’re past that. I just need you to listen to me now, Sabrina.”

I let out a long, slow breath. “Okay. I’m listening.”

“Good. The danger hasn’t passed, not completely. Do you know what they intended to do with you?”

I nod slowly. “I think so. The boss said something about ransoming me to my father. They wanted money, and they thought he would pay to have me back. He also said—” I feel my throat tighten, remembered fear washing through me. “He said that they would start sending pieces of me back to my father, if he didn’t pay right away.”

Kian’s jaw tightens, and I can see how angry that makes him, a flash of it in his eyes that’s so intense it frightens even me for a second. “They won’t do that now,” he says firmly. “Not if you’re willing to listen to me, and do as I suggest.”

That feels like a treacherous path to tread. “I don’t belong to you,” I say quietly. “You keep saying that, and I thought it was just—just something to say in the heat of the moment. But now I think you actually believe that I do.”

Kian surveys me, something in his gaze that I can’t quite read. He seems distant, suddenly, as if he’s momentarily become someone else, and fear trickles through my veins. It’s a fear that I can’t entirely put a name to, and I take another bite of my food, trying to stave it off. “You don’t belong to me,” he says finally, the words coming out almost begrudgingly—which makes no sense at all. “Not yet. But you could.”

I look up at him sharply, confusion washing over me. “What are you talking about? ”

“That man, the big one who threatened you—he was a boss. Not the boss of their organization,” Kian clarifies. “I did a good bit of digging, over the past few days. They’re part of a small-time mafia organization that spans the Carolinas, Tennessee, Kentucky, down to Mississippi, and even into Florida. Drug-running, mostly.”

“That doesn’t sound very small.” Even as I say it, I know it’s not true. I’m well aware of what constitutes a large, powerful mafia—my father is the pakhan of one of those organizations himself. But I don’t want Kian to know that. Although, I have a feeling that he might already, depending on exactly how much digging he did.

“Comparatively,” Kian says. “Which I think you know.” He looks at me narrowly. “I’m well aware of who your father is, Sabrina, and who they were going to sell you back to. This group who kidnapped you were doing so on orders of their boss. And that boss isn’t going to give up so easily. Unless, of course, you had protection.”

“Protection?” I frown. “What do you mean?”

“You marry me.”

I’m not sure I heard him correctly. I stare at him for a long moment, repeating his words in my head, trying to figure out what he actually said. And then, when he remains silent, and I realize that those really were the words that came out of his mouth, I laugh. I can’t help it.

“ Marry you? How on earth does that help anything?”

“They want money from your father. He might pay to get you back unmarried, but married, I don’t believe he will. I know how these organizations work, Sabrina, and no matter how much he loves you, you are a thing of value. Your value decreased dramatically already, and it will decrease more when you’ve been married. You might still be worth some of their trouble, if I were just anyone, but I’m not. I’m in charge of law enforcement here, and I’ve already dug into them. There’s already heat on them, and if you’re my wife, that’s the kind of heat they can’t handle. Not from both me, along with any pushback they might get from your father.”

I stare at him, trying to make sense of this. “You’re saying they won’t want to deal with both of you. And what about the FBI? You know about that, too?”

Kian nods. “I was brought up to speed. The FBI pose a problem for them, but you clearly didn’t say anything to Caldwell about the situation. They’re guessing you still won’t. But married to law enforcement, with pressure on this mafia and the added heat from the FBI and the connection to your father—you will be untouchable. They won’t dare to try anything like this again.”

What he’s saying makes sense, but I still hesitate. Something seems off about all of this, how quickly he’s jumped to it, how he claims there’s no other option. But when I look at his expression, he seems sincere. Concerned for me.

“You would have married for convenience and protection before,” Kian says calmly. “Before you came here. In your old life. What’s different about that now? At least we care for each other.”

I blink at him, startled by that last. “You care for me?” It’s not as if he said he loved me, but it feels like more than I expected, all the same.

Kian smirks. “Would I have come after you if I didn’t?”

The question hangs between us, and I think of what he did—finding me, eradicating every man in that warehouse, efficiently and without hesitation. “It’s your job,” I say weakly, but even I know what he did goes beyond what’s asked of a sheriff. For something like that, he should have called in backup, called Caldwell, something . But he chose to do it himself.

“You were—very capable, in there,” I say slowly. “How did you learn to move like that? Shoot like that?”

Something glimmers in Kian’s eyes, so quickly that I’m not sure I saw it correctly. It almost looks like irritation, but it’s gone so quickly that I can’t be sure. “In a line of work like this, being capable means not dying,” he says smoothly. “I happen to like being alive.”

I bite my lip, looking at him across our plates, the food cooling between us. He’s asked me to marry him. As proposals go, it’s not much of one, but how different is it, really, from the kind of proposal I would have gotten in my life before? Kian is right about that. It would have been a business transaction, between my father and whoever he chose, a signed contract and a marriage made without my input.

This isn’t exactly the choice I would have hoped for, but it is a choice. I could tell Kian no, and while I might not be as safe, I at least have the option to choose.

“What if—what happens when the danger is gone?” I ask quietly. “Are we trying to make a real marriage out of this? Or will we go our separate ways when the marriage isn’t necessary any longer?”

Kian’s smirk never leaves his mouth. “Already thinking about divorce? We’re not even married yet, princess.”

He’s needling me, as he always does, but it’s at that moment that I realize that I might want this. Somehow, in a short amount of time, Kian has become someone that it’s difficult for me to imagine no longer being a part of my life.

I didn’t tell Caldwell about my stalker because, in part, I didn’t want to be taken away from Kian. And now, he’s giving me the option to stay with him. To be with him, in a way that I never imagined for us. I didn’t even imagine a real relationship for us, only this temporary pleasure that we’ve both enjoyed together.

But then again, there are so many things I never imagined that Kian has shown me. Why not this, too?

There’s still a lingering doubt, a nervous feeling in my stomach, like an instinct warning me to tread carefully. “If we’re unhappy. Then, when the danger is gone, you’ll let me go?” You won’t force me to stay with you? The idea seems ludicrous, sitting here in my kitchen over pancakes. But in my old life, it wasn’t. Whatever man my father chose for me would have been inescapable, impossible to choose to divorce.

But Kian isn’t Bratva. He isn’t a part of that life. And here, I can ask that question.

His gaze darkens. “You’re asking me if I’ll let you go?”

I nod, swallowing hard.

Kian draws in a slow breath, and I know the answer before he even says it. “I’ve wanted you for what feels like a long time, princess. I wanted to make you mine as soon as I saw you open that front door. So if you are—no. I’m not sure I’ll be able to let you go.”

This is the part where I should get up and run. Where I should tell him to leave. Where I should say, firmly and unequivocally, no . But deep down, against every instinct I know I should have, every part of me wants to stay right here.

Kian wants me . Not my father’s power, or his wealth, or his influence. Not the esteem of marrying me. Not something beautiful to hang on his arm at dinners and charity galas. Just me. Enough that he’s telling me, bluntly, that a vow to him is a vow he considers to be made forever.

Marriage between us won’t be easy; I know that much. But I’m beginning to wonder if anything worthwhile ever is.

“Yes,” I say softly, and I hear my voice as if it’s outside of myself, making a choice that, for the first time, is my own. “I’ll marry you.”