Page 48 of Kyle

“It could be worse,” she mumbled. “At least he didn’t punch me.”

She needed to stop saying shit like that. Making light of what had been done to her. Every time she’d mentioned it, rage consumed me.

“All he did was slap me. If he’d punched me, he would have broken bones. This will heal in a few days,” she finished.

Christ.

But would her soul heal? Could she get past this trauma? I still didn’t know the details about what happened in the hours she was gone, but when I’d found her, she’d been restrained. She’d been chained to a pipe above her head, an image I would never forget. Blood dripping from her face, her wrists raw, up on her toes. Bare feet, torn clothes, beat to hell. Yeah, I’d never fucking forget it—not for as long as I lived.

“Kyle?” she called.

“You’re gonna have to pull the shirt up so I can wrap you up. Are you okay with that?”

“Yeah,” she sighed.

“I won’t—”

“I know you won’t. You don’t have to keep telling me. I trust you, Kyle.” Anaya slowly made her way to me and stopped a few feet away. “I think it looks worse than it really is.”

She pulled up the t-shirt I let her borrow, gathering the extra material as she went, and tucked it under her breasts, exposing her bare midriff. The boxers I’d loaned her were rolled down low on her hips and I sucked in a breath.

“I told you it looked worse than it feels.”

My eyes traveled over the purple and green bruises and my hand shook from the sight of her pretty pale flesh marred and injured. I’d fucked up so huge. This was my fault.

“Never fucking again will anyone fucking touch you in anger. I swear it on my life.”

Anaya’s eyes drifted closed and her inhale was audible.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”

My gaze traveled over her marred flesh and I couldn’t believe this beautiful, strong woman had taken a goddamn beating to protect me. She could’ve easily given my name, Declan’s name, given up Z Corps, Cambodia, everything. Yet she’d willingly took hit after hit. I knew men twice her size who’d broken under less pressure. Un-fucking-believable.

My woman was strong. Mine. And I’d never again make the mistake of denying it again.

With my hands trembling, it took me two tries to open the Ace bandage. When I had the elastic compress where I needed it, I carefully started to unwind it around her.

“Please stop,” Anaya huffed, and I froze making sure I wasn’t hurting her. “Not that.” She exhaled loudly.

“What do you mean, ‘not that’?”

“Not the wrapping. The way you’re acting.”

“How am I acting?”

“Like I’m made of glass. Like I’ll freak out if you touch me. Like I’m broken.”

“Anaya—”

“Just stop, Kyle. Don’t treat me like I’m some fragile victim. Wrap my fucking ribs and stop trying so hard not to touch me.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Bullshit,” she snapped and stepped away, forcing the bandage to fall to the floor.

Steely determination shone bright on her face, and it was radiating out of every pore.

“You know what I was thinking about when that asshole was slapping me?”