Page 71 of His Good Girl
Logan
Feeling sick that I had to see even a small bit of John slobbering all over my girl, I drag her roughly away from the scene of the crime. She is going into a meltdown, and I fear she might start screaming at any moment. I need to get her out of here. The cleaner heard her over the phone. I know he did before I heard the click of the line doing dead. She is in grave danger. I’ve shown her my hand and ripped open the Society right in front of her. We are both in serious shit if this gets out. Rue saying she wanted to recruit her and Francesca agreeing isn’t binding enough to save her. Serena will be canceled, and I won’t be far behind. The things Solitaire does…the things we do to ensure wealth, success, and to be one step ahead when crimes are committed, all of these things are illegal, criminal and would get us sent down faster than we could assemble a crack team of attorneys to sort it out.
My first priority is to get Serena out of here and back to my place; then, I can deal with the disgusting nature of having to erase John’s hands and mouth from all over her body.
I’m filled with rage that she just stood there and didn’t fight. Not so much at her, but at this entire situation. She should never have been on her own. We were so busy trying to keep her safe from Quentin that we didn’t even remember John had his perverted eyes on her as well. Scratch that…Iforgot.
And I hate myself.
I’m taking it out on her when all I want to do is throw myself on her mercy and beg her forgiveness.
Acting purely on instinct, with her following me in a complete daze, I drag her down the street, and then we get lost in the darkness of the back alleys and side streets. I can’t risk anyone seeing her or me. She is a mess, her dress torn and her face tear-stained, and I’m covered in John’s blood.
Making it to within several feet of my building, I stop my brisk walk and inhale sharply, calming my soul now that we are close to home and away from the crime I committed. Stripping off my jacket, I wrap it around her shoulders and pull it closed. She looks up at me, at a complete loss for words or actions.
“I’m sorry,” I mutter, closing my eyes and leaning my forehead against hers. “I yelled, but I wasn’t angry with you. I’m supposed to protect you, and I failed. I’m angry at myself.”
Feeling her hand on my cheek, I open my eyes again and pull back from her. “No,” she says. “You should be angry with me. I said no man would ever touch me again, and I stood there and let it happen. I’m sorry, Logan.” She drops her hand and sinks to her knees in the filthy alley, falling into a puddle as light snow starts to fall around us.
“Get up.”
“Please forgive me.”
My throat is so thick with emotion that I’m not sure I can speak again. “Get up,” I choke.
“Forgive me, Logan, please.”
“Serena, there is nothing to forgive. If anything, you should be forgiving me.”
She clutches my thighs, gripping my pants as she bows her head. Her soft sob tears through me, and I can’t bear to see her like this.
In the next second, I drop to my knees in front of her, taking her in my arms and kissing her head as she cries into my shirt.
“Please forgive me, Logan. I need to hear you say it.”
“I forgive you.”
Those three words that catch in my throat are what she needs to move past this. Trying to convince her there is nothing to be sorry for isn’t really how this works.
“Thank you,” she weeps, soaking my shirt, mingling her tears with John’s blood. “Thank you.”
Tangling my fingers into her snow-covered hair, I squeeze her tightly. “Do you forgive me, Serena? I don’t deserve it, but I’m so sorry I let you down.”
“You didn’t, Logan. You saved me.”
“Too late.”
“No. Not too late.”
“We need to get inside.”
She nods, and I help her to her feet, feeling like someone punched my still-beating heart before squeezing it until it nearly bursts. She doesn’t know the danger she is in, but it’s my job to protect her now and always. I will never allow anyone to hurt her or try to take her away from me again. She is mine, truly and eternally.
Holding her close to me, we stumble into the building and into the elevator. When it arrives on my floor, I quickly unlock the front door and pull her gently inside, closing it and bolting us in.
“Let’s get you in the shower,” I murmur.
She nods, brushing the snowflakes from her face. “I need to call Rue.”
