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“Twelve?” I asked, pushing back the nausea that rose.

A tiny nod followed, and I noticed her gaze flickered away, refusing to meet mine.

“The level of excitement the sicko had when it finally happened had me breaking down. That in turn, led to Mischa trying her best to make it better.”

“A trait the little mouse still has,” I said, rocking my shoulder into hers.

Her lips turned up. A faint breath slipped from her, almost a laugh.

“I know right, got to love her.”

The silence this time was heavier, and I understood that things were going to get dark from this point on. Her fingers twisted in the fabric of the blanket, pulling and releasing in small, restless motions before going still altogether.

The wind shifted along the shoreline, lifting strands of her hair and carrying them across her face, but she didn’t move to push them back. She stayed right where she was, gathering courage piece by piece. I watched her do it.

I also fought against the desire to pull her into me again, not to break the moment, just to ease how uncomfortable this was. This wasn’t about me. This wasn’t anything I could fix or control. So I held steady and stayed close enough that she could reach for me if she needed to.

Seconds passed, and she drew in a breath, then lifted her head. When her pretty blue eyes met mine again, there was no hesitation left in them.

“I think what bothers me the most is that, her greatest fears—the whip and ball-gag—became reality because of me. I’ve never forgiven myself. Don’t think I’ll ever be able to.”

My chest tightened, the words forming a rebuttal.

“And before you try to be Marcel, let me tell you, it doesn’t matter I was a child and not the one wielding the whip. She could have died. I thought she had at one point.”

The rest of what I might’ve said died with her words. Tears filled her eyes. Every word seemed to put her right back in the moment, and the pain was etched into her features. Something I’d learned through my many counseling sessions with Marcel surfaced.

Just listen.

I shifted closer, my hand finding hers where it rested between us. Threading my fingers with hers, I moved my thumb along her skin, giving her something to hold onto while the past tried to claim her.

I kept my gaze on her, open and unflinching. The only thing she needed to see was that there wasn’t anything she could say that would make me love her less or pull away.

“He made us watch her being beaten. Every horrifying blow, every foul word and threat. There was only one other time he lost control like that. One other time it was as bad.”

Images of Mouse being beaten tried to take shape behind my eyelids. They were sharp enough to make it difficult to breathe. But I kept my face steady. Kept my hands where they were, refusing to let it show.

She shuddered, the color draining from her face as the memory took hold. “I wasn’t responsible that time, but this beating had my name written all over it.”

No, everything in me rejected that. I wanted to say it. Tear it apart piece by piece, logically. Convince her that the blame wasn’t hers to shoulder. But I was intelligent enough to know that Marcel would have attempted to do that already.

And I wasn’t arrogant enough to think I would fare any better at this moment sitting on the beach while she bled it out in front of me. So I swallowed it. Let the words die where they burned in my throat. Her shoulders sank under the pressure, and it damn near took me with her.

“You and Mouse ever talk about it?” I ventured.

It felt like a safe enough question.

“No, not really. It lingers between us, though. It’s like a wound that can’t heal. Both of us afraid to relive it together. Maybe when we find Winter…”

With a sudden burst of emotion, she jumped to her feet. Her movements were abrupt and angry. She roughly brushed away the tears that spilled down her cheeks. I pushed up after her, reaching for her without thinking.

She resisted. Her hands pressed against my body, fighting the contact, the comfort, anything that threatened to soften the edges she was holding onto. I didn’t let go this time, letting her work through it until the fight drained out of her.

And it did.

Her body gave first, sagging into mine as her control slipped. I pulled her closer and dusted the top of her head with kisses as she swayed. Her breath was uneven against me as she spoke.

“If only Owen and his men had gotten there a week before. Do you have any idea of how different things would be? X would have been there, the Mask and even Sonny. I’m so angry and have been for so long. It sits inside me like a volcano, and I’m terrified I’ll erupt any day and destroy everything good in my life.”