Page 248 of Wicked Brutal

My fingers curl against the edge of the dresser. “He hit Toby?”

“He slapped him.”

I stare at her. “He slapped a six-year-old in the fucking face?”

“Hard.” Something ugly moves through me. Not hot. Not yet. Cold. “He stumbled into the island. Then Dad grabbed his arm and started jerking him around because he wouldn’t look at him.”

“Jesus fucking Christ.”

“He was crying, and Dad just kept yelling.” Her eyes drop. “So I got between them.”

There it is. I close my eyes. “Ally.”

“I know.”

“No, you clearly fucking don’t.”

Her eyebrows lift. “Excuse me?”

“You cannot put yourself between an angry grown man and a kid while you’re pregnant.”

“He was hurting Tobias.”

“I know he was hurting Tobias.”

“What was I supposed to do, Ryan?”

“Anything except put yourself in front of him.”

Her eyes narrow. Then she asks the one question she knows is going to end me. “What would you have done?”

I look away. She waits. “Don’t.”

“What would you have done?”

“That’s different.”

“How?”

“Because—“ Nothing. I’ve got fucking nothing. If someone put their hands on one of the boys in front of me, I’d be moving before I knew I’d made the decision. If it were a kid, forget it. I drag a hand over my face. “I would’ve done the same thing.”

“I know.”

“I still fucking hate that you did it. I’m not mad at you. I’m mad that you had to.” That changes her face. Just a little. I want to touch her so badly my hands hurt. “What happened when you stepped in?”

“Dad told me to move.”

“And you didn’t.”

“No.” A tiny piece of pride mixes into all the terror and rage in my chest. My sweet, proper girl looked Roman O’Toole in the face and told him no. I wish to God she’d never had to. “He grabbed me.”

The pride dies. “Where?”

“My arm first.” She adjusts the phone, and I catch the edge of something dark beneath her sleeve.

“Show me.”

“Ryan—“