Chapter 38
Serena
Removing the mask from my face, I take a slight breather.
I’ve found a deserted back staircase, which is probably used for staff or a fire escape, maybe.
It’s cooler in here, but I fan myself with the mask anyway, feeling relief at the small breeze and the lack of a crowd.
It was getting a bit overwhelming. I know Rue means well, but she was hovering, and I just need a minute to pull myself back together before I have a mini meltdown.
Shoving the gloves carefully down my arms, the dry scabs pulling slightly on the fabric, I rub the unmarked skin around the wounds.
They’re itchy as fuck and irritating me with these gloves on.
But I wasn’t being seen in public without them.
Leaning against the wall with the gloves bunched around my wrists and the mask dangling from my hand, I close my eyes momentarily, but they snap open when I hear the door open opposite me.
Panic spikes my blood when I see it’s John Jeffers. I’d managed to avoid him last week at work, even with Logan out at court, but now he is looming in front of me.
“Ah, Serena. There you are, dear. I’ve been searching everywhere for you.”
His slimy voice makes me cringe. I push forward and turn to head down the stairs, but he grabs my arm quicker than I anticipated for such a heavy-set man.
“Where are you going? I just got you alone.”
“Let go of me,” I grit out, wondering if anyone would hear me scream. Or even if screaming is such a good idea when I’m supposed to be flying under the radar.
He grunts and shoves me back to the wall, his beady eyes roaming all over my body. “So tasty,” he murmurs, reaching out to trail a finger down my throat and over my bare shoulder.
“Stop,” I manage to get out before my throat closes in fear. Bringing my hand up to push him away; he’s stronger than he looks. He grabs my wrist, pinning it to my side as his other hand grabs my breast through the dress.
“Shh, little girl,” he murmurs. “I know you want John to touch you.”
“No,” I whisper, frozen to the spot.
Move, Serena. Move, for fuck’s sake.
But it’s like telling myself to spread wings and fly. It’s impossible. I can’t do it.
“Please stop,” I whimper when he lets go of my wrist and grabs my other breast, pushing them up so they pop out of the top of the dress, showing him my nipples.
He licks his lips. “Mm. So well-endowed for a little girl.”
“Eww,” I mutter and try to push him away. “Get off me.”
He roughly pinches my nipples, and it’s an automatic reaction then to struggle, trying to get away from him.
Before I get free, he pulls me closer, his grip tightening. He tugs my dress, ripping the delicate fabric with his aggression. My breasts are completely exposed now.
My mind races, but my body is rooted to the spot, my limbs paralyzed by fear.
I can't move; I can't scream. All I can do is stand there, my heart hammering in my chest. Fear and panic make it difficult to breathe. My lungs close, and I go lightheaded. It’s exactly how it was when I was younger, when I was once again helpless in the face of danger.
I remember the fear, the terror, and the feeling of being completely powerless.
Knowing I have to fight, to resist, is one thing; doing it is something else.
I try to push him away, but he’s too strong.
He grabs my wrists and pulls me closer, his grip tightening, his breath hot on my face.
It’s the stench of booze and poor hygiene.
I gag, turning my head as far away from him as I can.
He licks my throat, making me shudder. My dress slips lower, the air cold against my sweating skin.
I am exposed, embarrassed, and violated.
Yet, I can’t stop it.
Panicking, my mind racing, I have to figure out a way to escape, but I’m too scared to move. I am trapped in my own fear.
When his mouth closes over my nipple, I cry softly, squirming to get out of his grip, but I can’t go anywhere. My floor-length dress has tangled around my legs, trapping them. Trying to bring my leg up to knee him is impossible, impeded by the black silk.
“Help!” I cry out as he bites my nipple roughly.
He lets go of one of my wrists to ram his hand roughly between my legs.
I buck against him, thrashing, clawing him with my free hand, but it’s no use.
He snatches my wrist and squeezes, shoving his knee between my thighs, panting over me, practically drooling on me.
I’m just not strong enough to get away.
So, I stop fighting.
Closing my eyes and willing it to be over with quickly, tears seep out of my eyes. Falling back into the recesses of my mind, I hear a commotion and then feel the pressure ease up on my body.
“Serena! Serena!”
“Logan,” I murmur, forcing myself to open my eyes, hoping I’m not imagining it. “Ahhh!”
My soft exclamation is followed up with my hand to my mouth. The only movement I seem capable of right now. Logan punches John, his hand wrapped around the other man’s throat. Blood is spraying out everywhere, hitting the harsh, white-painted walls.
“Logan!”
The scream is loud in my ears, making me realize it’s coming from me. “Logan!”
“Dammit, Serena,” he grits out. “What the fuck is this?”
“I—I—don’t—” I stammer, unable to form a complete sentence.
“Cover yourself up, for fuck’s sake,” he growls, smashing John in the face one more time before he goes down, his face an absolute mess.
“Logan…”
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 all him!
” 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.