Darting forward, I can’t stop myself from wrapping my arms around her. I press my hand to the back of her head and try to curve my body around hers. She instantly breaks down, and I hate asking the question, but I need to know. “Did he rape you?” “N-no,” she stammers through her tears. “I m-managed to fight h-him off until you c-came.” Thank. God. When Kiara calms down, she pulls back, whispering, “Thank you.” I’m just about to tell her to stop thanking me when she adds, “For stopping him.”
