Page 70 of His Good Girl
He turns to me, his face furious, splashes of blood all down his white shirt and over his partially covered face. He is wearing a Phantom of the Opera-type mask, which he rips off when he sees me floundering. Striding over, he grabs my upper arms and shakes me.
“Serena! Fight back, dammit. When someone attacks you, angel, you fight. Please. Please, Serena. Don’t just stand there and let it happen! You fight with everything you have. You said no other man would ever touch you again. You fight back! Fuck. I’m sorry, I’m not… Fuck!”
Tears stream out of my eyes as I stand there, being yelled at by the man I needed to comfort me. “I’m s-s-sorry,” I sob.
“No!” he roars. “No! Don’t apologize. This is allhim!” Furious, he lets me go and spins, running his clean hand through his hair. The other one is covered in blood and split open again. I know now that he was in a fight before when I saw his hand bandaged up. Beating on poor Dave as well, I see his temper now, and I cower in the corner.
John groans and tries to get up, drawing my eyes back to him.
Logan roars and kicks him in the ribs. Then he pulls something out of his jacket pocket and leans over John, blocking my view.
A strangled howl, followed by a spray of blood that hits the wall lower down with a sickening splatter that brings bile in my mouth.
I hold it down, biting my tongue so I don’t throw up all over Logan when he turns back to me, his face pale and livid.
“Please cover yourself up,” he whispers, pulling his phone out and making a call.
Who could he possibly be wanting to talk to right now?
“Cover yourself up right now, Serena,” he growls. “I’m not fucking about.”
Glancing down, I see my breasts are still exposed, my dress around my waist. With shaking hands and the strength of a kitten, I tug it back up, struggling to contain the mounds in the ripped fabric.
“I didn’t mean—”
“Ssh.” He places his finger to his lips and turns from me.
Letting out an ugly-sounding sob, I slide down the wall, trying not to look at John. But I can’t help it. Logan has slit his throat, and he is bleeding out all over the beige tile of this back staircase where anyone could come across us and arrest Logan, and probably me, as an accomplice.
“I need a clean-up at Courts. Back staircase, first floor,” I hear Logan say clearly but quietly.
“We need to call the police,” I say loudly, finding my voice.
He spins to me, his face stricken, shaking his head vehemently as he hangs up quickly.
With a trembling hand, he reaches for me, hauling me to my feet.
“Logan, we can’t just pretend this didn’t happen. They’ll find us.”
“Serena, I need you to keep your mouth shut and do exactly as I say. Can you do that?”
Giving John another petrified look, I murmur, “Logan.”
“Can you do that?” he asks, gripping my arm tighter.
I nod because there is nothing else I can do.
“This will be taken care of, but you cannot say a word. You were never here. Do you understand?”
I nod again, dumbstruck.
“I need to hear you say the words, Serena. Do you understand?”
“Y-yes,” I croak.
Letting him drag me off, I pick up my skirt so I don’t trip over the hem, my mask still tangled around my fingers, looking back over my shoulder again at the dead body of my attacker, lying in a pool of his own blood. My attacker that Logan killed because he touched me.
Chapter39
