Chapter 250

For a moment, Christian couldn’t understand the words. He heard them. He understood each one individually.

But his mind refused to accept that a father could say something like that to his own daughter.

That he could take the worst thing that had ever happened to her and use it as a weapon against her years later.

That he could look at his child, remember what she had told him when she was eight, and still choose to make her feel responsible.

Christian’s jaw tightened. "Your father said that to you?"

Kylie shrugged. "He says a lot of things."

"That you were seeking attention at eight?"

She gave another small shrug, her gaze still fixed on his hand.

Christian’s anger came so quickly that it almost frightened him. "You were eight, Kylie."

"I know."

"Getting raped at eight was your fault?"

She flinched at the force in his voice.

Christian saw it immediately.

He forced himself to take a breath, but the rage didn’t disappear. It moved through him, hot and vicious, making his hands shake beneath hers.

"No," he said, quieter but no less fiercely. "You were a child. You were eight years old, and someone hurt you. And your father looked at you and decided that you were responsible for what someone else chose to do to you?"

Kylie finally glanced up. "Christian, don’t make this a big deal. I’m just—"

"Just what?"

She looked down again. "I’m just telling you what happened."

"As if it’s nothing?"

"That’s not what I said."

"But that’s how you’re talking about it."

His voice had risen again.

Kylie went still.

Christian immediately hated himself for it.

He loosened his fingers, careful not to close his hand around hers, and lowered his voice.

"Blue, I’m not angry with you."

She nodded, but she didn’t look convinced.

Christian looked away, dragging a hand over his face before remembering the bruising and stopping with a frustrated breath.

He wanted to do something.

He wanted a name, an address, a way to reach through thirteen years and find the little girl who had gone to her father because someone had hurt her. He wanted to take her out of that room, away from the man who had made her feel ashamed of something that had never been hers to carry.

He wanted to go back to the club and finish what he had started.

And underneath all of it was the knowledge that none of those things could change what had happened.

That was the part he couldn’t stand.

Kylie resumed cleaning his knuckles. "He called me a lying slut, too," she added.

Christian turned back to her.

She said it so lightly. Almost carelessly.

As if the words hadn’t come from the mouth of the man who had raised her. As if she hadn’t heard variations of them enough times to learn how to repeat them without letting her voice break.

Christian felt sick. "And you think I should sit here and not make a big deal out of it?"

Kylie sighed. "I don’t want this to become a whole thing, Christian. I’m just telling you."

"Because you think you have to make it sound small for me to hear it?"

Her fingers paused.

For the first time since she’d started speaking, she looked as though she didn’t know what to say.

Christian’s chest tightened. He reached for her hand, then stopped before touching it. He didn’t want his anger to become another thing she had to manage.

"Kylie, look at me."

She lifted her eyes.

"What happened to you was a big deal," he said. "It was a big deal when you were eight. It was a big deal when you told your father. It was a big deal when he refused to protect you. And it is still a big deal now."

Her mouth trembled.

He kept his voice gentle. "You don’t have to pretend it wasn’t just because you’ve learned how to live with it."

Kylie looked away.

Christian’s gaze dropped to his hand, still resting in hers.

"And then this man had the audacity to approach you tonight, put his hands on you, and speak to you as if he had any right to you at all."

His voice hardened. "He doesn’t."

"I know."

"Do you, Blue?"

She swallowed. "Yes."

Christian nodded, though the anger inside him was still searching for somewhere to go.

He wanted to disable her father.

The thought came with frightening clarity.

Not kill him. Not give him the mercy of a quick end. He wanted to strip away every means he had of reaching Kylie, every ounce of power he thought he had over her. He wanted the man to wake up every morning and understand that he could no longer frighten his daughter into silence.

He wanted him to live with the consequences of what he’d done.

Christian rubbed his forehead. "I want to disable him, Kylie. Both of them."

She stopped moving.

"I need them alive but already dead." His voice was low, strained by the effort of holding himself back. "I want them to lose every bit of power he thinks he has over you. I want them to understand what they’ve done to you. I want—"

He stopped.

Because Kylie was looking at him, and there were tears in her eyes.

Real tears. Gathering along her lower lashes, and making her eyes shine.

Christian’s anger fell away from his voice, leaving something raw underneath it.

"Hey, hey." He shifted closer. "Come here, baby."

Kylie tried to smile. It was a terrible attempt. "I’m fine now."

"I know you want to be."

Her lips parted, but no words came.

Christian gently took the antiseptic and cotton from her hands, setting them aside before reaching for her.

He helped her up from where she sat beside him, drawing her carefully into his arms. Kylie folded against his chest, and he wrapped himself around her, with one hand cradling the back of her head.

For a few seconds, she remained perfectly still. Then her fingers twisted into his shirt.

Christian pressed his cheek against her hair. "I’m sorry," he whispered.

She shook her head. "Don’t be."

"I’m sorry you had to hear those words from him. I’m sorry he made you feel like you had to defend yourself for something that was never your fault."

Kylie’s shoulders rose with a shaky breath.

Christian held her closer, but not so tightly that she couldn’t move away.

She closed her eyes.

He kissed the top of her head. "I’m here, Blue."

The room fell quiet.

He kept one hand against the back of her head and rubbed slow circles between her shoulder blades. When she drew in a shaky breath, he stayed quiet. When she tightened her grip on his shirt, he let her.