Page 39 of His Good Girl
“Don’t want to talk.”
“Do you want me to come over?”
“No. Don’t want you to have to clean up the mess.”
“What mess?” Her voice is scared. I can hear it. I don’t want to cause her that fear, but it’s too late now. I’ve dragged her into my shitshow because I didn’t want to be alone.
“I’m sorry, Rue. You’ve been so nice to me. I’m sorry and tell your friends I’m sorry too.”
“Serena!”
“Bye, Rue.”
“Serena—"
Hanging up, knowing I’m a coward with my cry for help, I bring the knife up to my arm, dragging the blade across my wrist, just shy of where it would kill me.
I don’t even have the guts to kill myself.
I never did.
The old scars are still there—all of them.
Slicing over them, the burn of the knife cutting open my skin makes me choke on the air struggling out of my lungs. The crimson liquid wells up and seeps out, staining my arm, the knife, the floor.
Sticky and warm, it drips over my skin until four cuts show deep and dark red on my lower arm. Lightheaded, I swap hands, the handle of the knife viscous with my blood, I repeat the gashes, another four, eight in total.
“Logan.” I pass out with his name on my lips, from the gory sight, the wine, and the sheer desperation of being such a failure, of being so unlovable, that men just want to use me as a pawn in their games.
Chapter22
Logan
“Oh, you seriously need to get the fuck out of my way.”
But it’s like talking to a brick wall. Isaac is built like one, so it’s a fair assumption that it would be like hitting one. Not that I’m letting that put me off. If he doesn’t move, he’s going down.
“Get in the car, Logan,” Quentin says, almost exasperated.
“You’ve held me up on the sidewalk for fifteen minutes, and you expect me to just do as you say?” To say that I’m fuming would be an understatement. I’ve been stuck in court all damn day, needing to get back to Serena. I couldn’t even call her to make sure she was okay.
“It’s about Serena. Get in.” He slides across, and I climb in next to him without much of a choice. Isaac joins us in the passenger seat, and the car sets off.
“Where is Serena?”
“At home. She won’t be coming back to work for you next week.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me. No more conversation until we are in your apartment.”
Knowing better than to argue, as it will be ultimately fruitless, it also gives me a chance to prepare what I’m going to say. Right now, I’m acting purely on instinct, and that will never fly with Quentin. He is as controlled and calm as they come. Anger only annoys him and makes him shut down further.
Minutes later, Isaac is shoving me into my own fucking apartment as Quentin closes the door behind us all.
“You’re a fucking dick,” I snarl.
“Listen up, Logan,” he says, that calm tone never wavering for one moment. “You stay the fuck away from my niece, and we don’t have a problem.”
