Page 92 of His Good Girl
“Of course,” she scoffs, but I have a feeling it’s a lie, luckily, it is what I wanted. I said I didn’t want to be on the outside looking in, and I meant it. Logan doesn’t get to be some big hot shot Secret Society man, and I’m the little girl tagging along and clueless. No chance.
“Well,” I huff out a breath. “It’s a good thing I want in.”
Beaming at me, she says, “Fabulous! Rue will be so excited to have someone to talk to about things!”
Returning her smile and feeling weirdly okay about what just happened, I blow my nose and brighten up a bit. My life has crashed so badly again, but I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep falling down and expecting Logan to pick me up. He will get annoyed with me and my whining, and eventually, he will leave me, and I wouldn’t even be able to blame him. I not only look to him to be my protector, my savior, but I lookupto him. He can teach me so much about the world and myself and how to love deeply and irrevocably. If I don’t do this for myself, then I have to do it for him and for us. It scares me a bit, knowing that I have to be stronger and more capable, to accept the darker aspect of life, but I will. I know the dark exists, I’ve witnessed it several times, but I’ve survived, and Logan has made me stronger.
“So what do I have to do?”
“Just be you, Serena. Your wonderful, perfect self. If we need you, we will let you know.” After that rather ominous-sounding statement, Francesca rises and cups my face. “Are you okay now?”
Nodding, I reply, “Yes. I’m good. Thanks for being here. I think Logan would've handled that a lot differently.”
“Oh, you mean like a man?” She snickers at her joke.
“Yep, he has his methods, and I love them, but I guess I needed a softer touch today.”
Francesca looks down at me, her eyes serious. “If you ever need me, Serena, I will be here. You are like my little protégé. I feel we are going to have a magnificent time.”
“Hope so and thank you.”
With a glorious smile, she drops her hand and leaves me to contemplate everything on my own before Logan will inevitably come up here asking how I am. I want to tell him with no uncertainty that I’m fabulous, and while killing Kelly was a shock and will be something that sticks with me for a while, I don’t regret it.
That’s the main thing, right? No regrets.
Rising steadily to wash my face and tidy up a bit, I coil my hair up into a braided bun and stick some pins in it. I’ve been wearing it this way for days, hoping Logan would grab it again and use it to hold me in place while he does dirty things to me, but so far, that hasn’t happened again. He’s been gentle and loving. Maybe it’s time to take the bull by the horns and force him to be rough with me. Needing it, craving it, I want to be slammed against the wall, fucked over the dining table where I leave boobprints on the clear glass, ravaged, savaged, cut, my hair tugged, my pussy battered by his enormous cock.
Is that too much to ask? I don’t think so, so I will force him to make the first move and then it’s up to him to pick up what I’ve laid down.
Wondering what has happened to Kelly, I round the corner from the bedroom and peek down the stairs. She's not there anymore and the blood has been cleaned up from the parquet floor.
The cleaner.
I guess that’s why he has the title.
“Can I come down now?” I call, biting my lip and rolling my eyes at the absurdity of my question. But I really don’t want to walk downstairs and unexpectedly find the cleaner stuffing Kelly into a suitcase to walk off with. That would be a bit too much for my conscience to bear. I’m toeing the line as it is.
Logan appears with that smile, the wicked curve of his lips that thrills me to my very core. “Yes, baby girl. It’s safe.”
Nodding, I take the stairs slowly. Walking my way through Kelly’s last moments, wondering what went through her mind as she fell to her death.
By the time I’ve reached the bottom and Logan takes my hand, kissing my fingers, I realize that I don’t really care.
Chapter50
Logan
Francesca said Serena was fine and that she had accepted the offer to become part of Solitaire, but I wasn’t sure what to expect. It wasn’t this slightly more confident goddess that has, to my dismay tied her hair up in a bun.
“How are you?” I ask carefully.
“Good. Francesca is great. She showed me that what I did was necessary, or I would be dead, and probably you as well.”
“All true. That woman was…disturbed.” Coming from me, that’s saying something. “But are you sure you’re good?” She seems to be, but killing someone, especially the first time is shocking and takes a while to come to terms with.
“I’m okay. You don’t have to worry about me.”
“But I want to. You mean everything to me.”
