Deadly Oath

29. Sabrina

29

SAbrINA

A s I stare down at the timer on my phone, counting down from five minutes, my heart beats hard in my chest.

Five . A fitting number for what’s happening. It’s been five days since my wedding, after all. Five days since I married Kian Brady. Four since he moved into my house, making it ours . Since he came home from one of his fights, and I took care of him like a wife. It made me feel more like one than our wedding night did, even. Maybe even more than the ceremony. It made me feel like he was mine, a little bit, just as all the things he’s done to me in bed have made me his.

Three days that he’s fucked me every night, in the bed that’s ours now, too. Three nights that he’s fallen asleep with me, the first time I’ve ever shared a bed with anyone. I like it more than I thought I would, the feeling of Kian’s warm, solid body next to mine, his arm over my waist, something for me to burrow into, to feel safe with.

As of right now, the mafia that was after me seems to have kept their distance. The noises I hear at night now are softer, more distant, definitely the rustling of leaves instead of footsteps outside. And Kian is right that it will be good to get away. I don’t know what he told Caldwell to get him to not freak out—about the marriage or us leaving town for a honeymoon—but I haven’t heard anything about it. And there’s another two weeks until he’s scheduled to visit again. We’ll be back in plenty of time before that.

Two days until we’re supposed to leave for our honeymoon—although I still don’t know where. Kian told me to pack for chillier weather than this, and I have visions of a cabin in the snow, somewhere remote, in Colorado or upstate New York or Canada. A cozy fireplace and a rug in front of it, soft enough for us to?—

To what? I still don’t know what to call what we do together in bed. It’s not lovemaking, that’s for sure. Sex sounds clinical. Fucking is the only way to describe it, and I can’t help wanting something a little more romantic, still. But in time, I imagine, it will soften. We’ll try something different. Gentler. And the things he does to me are all things that turn me on. Whatever I might wonder about outside of bed, the moment Kian touches me, I’m aching for him.

One minute left on my timer. To see where all that sex—all of that fucking —might have led us. Or, at least, the first time, before I got my birth control.

I stare down at the plastic test on the counter, my heart thudding in my chest. Kian had been so sure that one time wouldn’t be enough. That I wasn’t at the right time of the month. But unless the pills didn’t work?—

I bite my lip, chewing at it, still staring at the test as if I can make the result pop up sooner. I passed off the nausea as stress from the kidnapping, the wedding, all of it. When my period was late, right before the wedding, I was actually glad. No woman wants to be bleeding on a day when she’s wearing a white dress—or on her period on her wedding night, not if she’s actually excited to be going to bed with the man she’s marrying. And afterward, I was so distracted with Kian moving in, and all the changes—I didn’t think about the fact that it was getting later and later.

Until I did, yesterday.

I grabbed a test while I was out grocery shopping with Marie, somehow managing to scan and hide it while she was distracted by the magazine rack. And now, as I wait for the result, I don’t know how to feel.

It’s fast. Too fast, just like everything else in my relationship with Kian has been. And yet—all of that has turned out better than I could have imagined.

I always knew marriage and children were in my future, in a theoretical sort of way. A marriage would have been arranged for me, sooner rather than later, and children would have been expected as soon as possible. All of that would have happened very differently than it’s happening now—and even though all of this isn’t exactly on my terms, it’s much more so than it would have been before. For once, I feel as if I’ve had some hand in all of it. There were outside forces involved in my decision to marry Kian, but the decision to sleep with him was all mine. And that, after all, was what got me here, to this moment.

The timer goes off, just as the result pops up in the little window. I bought the type that gives a worded answer, instead of lines, wanting there to be as little doubt as possible. And the result is plain as day, a single word.

Pregnant.

A flood of emotions hit me all at once, as I stare at it. Anxiety at how Kian will react, if this is too soon, if this is a mistake. If I shouldn’t be even more bound to him than I already am, so quickly into our marriage, into our relationship. But on the heels of that anxiety, is something else, too.

Excitement. Happiness, even. It wasn’t all that long ago that I couldn’t see a future for myself, and suddenly one is opening up, faster than ever. A husband that I wanted. A child that we made together. A family , here in this place that I hated when I was first dropped here, where I thought I could never fit in, but where I’ve found a friend and love and hope all the same. I don’t know how Kian will feel about this, but I feel a jittery thread of nervous anticipation, and I press my hand to my still-flat stomach, already finding myself thinking ahead.

A different house, because we’ll need a nursery. For our little girl— I’m already hoping we have a daughter. A place that Kian and I can pick out together, with a backyard, maybe. I think of how excited Marie will be when I tell her, and a smile spreads across my face, my heart beating fast for a different reason altogether.

Should I tell him tonight? I hesitate, thinking of the honeymoon that we’re about to go on. If Kian is upset about how quickly all this is happening, I don’t want it to spoil the trip. And maybe waiting until afterward will be better. We’ll be able to spend that time away, just the two of us, getting to know each other more. Getting closer. The time, I think, to give Kian news like this would be after a romantic getaway like that.

We’ll come home, and then I’ll tell him, on our first night back, I decide. There’s no rush, and it will give me time to settle into how I feel about it, too. Then, when I tell Kian, I can do it confidently, with nothing but excitement. Excitement that, I hope, he’ll share with me.

I have no idea what I’ll do if he doesn’t.

—

The morning of our flight out to our honeymoon, I’m busy packing while Kian ties up some last-minute things at the station. I went shopping with Marie yesterday, picking up a handful of items that I haven’t needed here, where the weather is much milder than what Kian is telling me to prepare for. What he didn’t tell me was what occasions I would need to dress for—if my cabin-in-the-woods fantasy is more what I should pack for, or if I need clothes to go out to dinner. So I pack a little of everything, from jeans and my favorite sunflower sweater, to a brown and blue striped sweater dress that I picked up yesterday, a soft black turtleneck sweater, and a couple pairs of nice jeans. I add leggings, sweatshirts, more comfortable long-sleeved shirts, and the last item—a turquoise satin babydoll nightie, with white lace around the edge. I remember how Kian looked at me when he saw the lingerie I chose to go under my wedding dress, and I can’t wait to see the look on his face when he sees me in this.

Kian arrives just as I’m packing the last of my things, and he smiles when he sees me. “Ready?” he asks, reaching for the leather duffel bag that he packed last night, and I nod. I think of the pregnancy test stowed under the sink, and I wonder if there’s something wrong about keeping this secret from him until we’re back from our honeymoon. But my instinct is to do just that, to wait for the right time to tell him, and I decide to stick with that.

“Let’s go,” I tell him, and we head outside, to where Marie is just pulling up. “Is she giving us a ride?” I ask Kian, looking at him curiously, and he nods.

“I thought it was better than leaving my truck at airport parking. It can get pricey,” he explains. “And she was nice enough to offer.” He raises a hand in greeting, taking my suitcase and going around to put it in the back of the minivan along with his bag.

“Are you so excited?” Marie asks as I slide into the passenger’s seat, and I nod, feeling that building sense of anticipation. It feels like ages since I’ve been on vacation, and considering the circumstances under which I came to Rivershade, this feels even more like being let out after a long confinement. No matter how much happiness I’ve found here, and created for myself, this town still wasn’t my choice. And I’m excited about some new scenery.

“I can’t wait for some time alone with Kian,” I tell her, since I can’t say any of the thoughts that ran through my head, and Marie grins mischievously at me.

“I would be, too, if I were you.” She glances at him, shaking her head. “Lucky girl. Not that I’d trade Greg for anything, but—” She wiggles her eyebrows at me, and I can’t help but laugh.

The temptation to tell her my news is almost overwhelming. But before I can give in to it, Kian slides into the backseat, and the moment passes. “Ready?” he asks me again, and I nod.

The trip to the airport seems to fly by. Marie hugs me goodbye when she drops us off, squeezing me tightly, and I laugh.

“I’ll be back in a few days,” I tell her. “It’s just a trip! ”

“I know, but I’ll miss you.” She squeezes me again, then lets go, as Kian clears his throat. “I don’t want you to miss your flight.”

Kian refuses to show me the tickets, wanting to prolong the surprise for as long as possible, but once we reach our gate, I see the destination. “New York?” I turn to him, that excitement growing. I don’t know if we’re going to the city, or to upstate the way I imagined, but when he nods, I can’t help the smile that spreads over my face. As much as I love the idea of a snowy little cabin, a part of me hopes that we are going to the city. It’s been a while since I’ve been surrounded by that much civilization, and if I’m being honest, I miss it.

I know Kian isn’t going to tell me, and I don’t actually think I want to know. I’m eager for the surprise, the anticipation building, and I lean into him as we wait, scrolling through my phone and watching the people pass by. Even the airport is busier than anywhere I’ve been recently, and it makes me feel a little more alive, being back in a bustling place like this. As much as I’ve grown to like Rivershade, this is more of what I’m used to.

There’s a tiny bit of fear, underneath it all. I was sent to Rivershade for my protection, and I wasn’t supposed to leave. I don’t know if the Kariyev Bratva is still after me, or if the mafia that kidnapped me might have eyes on me now. But I do know that I trust Kian. He married me to protect me. And I don’t think he would take me on this trip if he didn’t think it was safe.

The flight is incredibly short, only two hours, but the anticipation of getting there makes it feel longer. Kian is tense next to me, a book in his lap that he doesn’t seem to be reading, and I realize that I have no idea how he feels about flying. I’ve never minded it—the concept of it is thrilling, to me, but from the rigid way he’s sitting next to me, I have a suspicion he doesn’t feel the same.

I reach over and touch his hand, gently. “Do you not like flying?” I ask curiously, and Kian looks over at me, his expression harder than usual.

“It’s fine,” he says tautly, and my mouth twists slightly. I have a feeling my husband just told me what I’m pretty sure is the first lie of our marriage, but I’m not exactly surprised that Kian doesn’t want to admit it, if he is scared.

I curl my fingers around his, but he pulls his hand away. That startles me, and hurts my feelings more than a little, but I press my lips together, not saying anything. He’s clearly not enjoying the flight, which means that it’s all the more romantic that he planned this trip for us in the first place.

Surprisingly, though, he doesn’t seem to relax when the plane finally lands at JFK. He gets the bags out of the overhead as everyone begins to deboard the plane, and his mouth is tense, his jaw tight. It’s just going to take him a minute to relax, I tell myself, trying not to be disappointed that our trip is starting out like this. It’s not as if it isn’t normal to be afraid of flying.

“Is someone picking us up?” I ask as we head out through the airport, and Kian nods, his bag slung over his shoulder and my suitcase in his other hand. “Someone you know?”

He shakes his head, clearly not wanting to give away the surprise. I look around as we step out into the cold November air, glad that I put on my jacket before we got outside, and see that Kian is headed for a black town car at the end of a line of other cars waiting to pick up arrivals.

“Do we have—” My eyes widen as a driver steps out and opens the door for us. “ Kian . I didn’t expect this!” My mouth drops open a little as he slides inside, and I follow, the familiar scent of buttery leather and the cool interior of an expensive car sliding over me. With it comes all the memories of my life before this; my chest tightens, and I look over at him, completely caught off guard. “This is so much, Kian. I didn’t expect you to go all out like this.”

He looks over at me, something almost startled in his expression, and I frown, a little confused. “Did you think I expected this?” I ask cautiously, hoping that the answer is no . We haven’t been together long, but I hoped that by now, Kian would know that I’m not so spoiled that I expect things like this.

He pauses, then clears his throat. “No,” he says, a tight smile at the corners of his lips. “I didn’t think that at all. I wanted to surprise you, that’s it.”

“I’m very surprised. I can’t wait to see where we’re going.” I reach over to take his hand, suddenly nervous that he’ll pull away again, the way he did on the plane. “Are you okay?” I ask tentatively. “You don’t seem as excited about this as I would have thought.”

An almost grim sort of amusement flickers across Kian’s face. “I was thinking the same thing,” he says, and then his jaw tightens, as if he wants to take the words back. “I’m fine,” he adds quickly. “Just thinking about where we’re going, that’s all.”

I press my lips together, still confused. He’s acting strangely, and I don’t know why a surprise that he planned is making him so tense. Unless he’s worried about it all going perfectly. Unless he’s concerned that I won’t like some part of it, or something won’t be right. The thought softens me instantly, making my chest tighten at the thought of him worrying over something like that. I want to tell him that it doesn’t matter, but I doubt that he would admit that’s what he’s thinking. Instead, I just curl my fingers around his, realizing as the scenery slips by that we’re going into the city. We keep driving through Manhattan until the city gives way to larger properties, estates with rolling green lawns and high fences. The car turns down a long, winding driveway, and pulls up to a small guard shack, outside of a high wrought-iron fence that borders one of those estates, with a Gilded Age mansion built out of cream stone taking up the center of it.

I stare at it, more startled than ever. I’m torn between being excited over what might be waiting for us inside, and worried that Kian thought I needed something this extravagant. I can’t imagine that this kind of expense came easily for him. “Kian—this must have been expensive,” I venture. “You really didn’t have to?—”

“Just wait here.” He slides out of the car, and I see him talking to the black-garbed man who steps out of the guard shack. The man nods, and retreats to the small outbuilding, motioning to the driver as the gates open and Kian slides back into the car.

He says nothing as he sits next to me. Anticipating the rest of the surprise, maybe? Something feels off, but I can’t put my finger on what it is, exactly. This is an extravagant surprise, a honeymoon beyond what I imagined he had planned, and yet, Kian has seemed terse and almost angry since we got on the plane. I’d thought it was just flight anxiety, but this?—

I bite my lip, twisting my fingers together in my lap as the car pulls forward, the iron gates clanging shut behind us. I tell myself that there’s some explanation, that Kian didn’t just go cold overnight, that once we’re settled in, he’ll relax and go back to his normal self. Maybe this is all out of his comfort zone. Maybe he doesn’t like traveling, and this makes him anxious. We don’t actually know each other that well, and that’s never been as clear to me as it is right now.

The car circles around the driveway, pulling up in front of the stone steps that lead to the house. The driver gets out, opening the door on my side and offering me a hand, and I take it gladly, stepping out into the cold November air as Kian slides out behind me.

His hand loops through my arm, pulling me close, fingers curling around my forearm in a tight grip. Almost too tight.

“Kian?” I hear the tremor in my voice as I say his name, the confusion, but Kian leads me forward, up the stone steps to the large black wooden front door. He doesn’t ring the doorbell or use the huge, antique door knocker that’s shaped like a hare’s head, cast in gold. He just reaches down, opening the door as if the house were his, and leads me inside.

The door closes heavily behind him. He lets go of my hand, turning and locking the door, his tall, muscled body blocking the way between me and it as he turns back to face me. It’s the only thing I can think of, because the look on his face turns forbidding, harsh, as if he’s dropped a mask that he’s been wearing for weeks.

Dread washes over me, a sudden, instinctive fear that tells me that something is very, very wrong. That I’ve missed something, something vital, and that I’ve made a terrible mistake in coming here with this man.

“Sabrina.” When he says my name, it’s not just his expression that’s changed. It’s his voice, too. His entire bearing . Gone is the raspy, drawling southern accent, gone is the slightly slouched posture, the approachable stance. He’s stiff, tense, authoritative—a posture I recognize because I’ve seen it all my life in the men I grew up around, in my father and the men who worked for him. It’s the stance of a man with power, a man who won’t be disobeyed, a man who knows he owns not only where he’s standing but everyone around him, too.

And his accent is Irish. Clear as a bell. The voice I’ve heard every day since I’ve met him isn’t his voice at all. In fact, I don’t think a single thing about this man is what I thought I knew, since the day he showed up on my front step.

“What’s going on?” I barely manage the words, my throat tight, my heart pounding. Kian doesn’t smile. He doesn’t even look victorious any longer.

“I think it’s time you found out the truth.”