“True,” I responded.

I discarded the towel after I had cleaned my hands and then turned to face my father.

I was taller than him, but he was still formidable.

But I still held on to hope that we wouldn’t have to go any further than we already had.

Knew that we would if he pressed the issue.

The fact that he was my father was the only reason I continued to allow him to draw breath.

But I would only let him push me so far.

“Have your own years not made you suspicious?” he asked.

“I am, just as I should be, but in this case, your suspicion is unwarranted,” I said.

I walked over to Kayla and untied one wrist.

Tried not to react when I saw the bruises marring her skin.

Failed.

I turned, narrowing my eyes at my father. “Father,” I said on a low, guttural growl.

My father’s eyes widened ever so slightly, but it was enough to make it clear that he understood that he’d gone too far.

I stood, intent on hammering that lesson home.

Kayla’s fingers tangling with mine stopped me.

I turned back to her, and she looked at me with pleading eyes. But that wasn’t what undid me.

No, what undid me was the way she clung to my hand, her fingers ice cold in a way they shouldn’t have been, but her grip tight, the way she held my fingers practically begging me not to let her go.

Kayla didn’t beg, and if she’d ever needed me, she hadn’t shown it.

It was showing now, clear as day, and as much as I wanted to punish my father for what he’d done, I needed to take care of her.

My father didn’t protest as I untied the other wrist, her waist, and then her ankles.

I saw the frayed cuffs on her pants again and told myself I would burn those fucking things as soon as I had a chance. A stupid thought, especially now, but it was what I focused on.

Better that than thinking of what she’d endured.

How I could have lost her…

“Can you stand?” I asked, my voice not giving away any of the emotion that was threatening to overcome me.

“I think I’ll need a moment,” she responded.

He voice was weary, quiet, not at all my Kayla, and more than anything, I wanted the Kayla who would match me toe to toe.

But she wasn’t here.

I wondered when—if—she would be again.

I studied her for moments longer, fighting back my own anger and regret, and then looked at my father.

“This is no way to treat family,” I said.

I had squatted next to Kayla, and after a few moments of her twisting her wrists and then her ankles to get the blood flow going, I stood, then pulled her up with me.