“When?” The single word is hard and flat. It’s not a question. It’s a demand. I clench my jaw, my gaze skating away from his. “When I was fifteen.” Then I huff a bitter laugh. “Why? Worried it might’ve happened on your watch?” He steps closer to me, erasing the small distance between us. He’s still holding my wrist in his big hand, his grip still crushing my bones. “No. It wouldn’t happen on my watch, Ayla. I wouldn’t let it.”
