Page 99 of Guarded

My feet feel like they are nailed to the ground below me. Blood splatters all over my white boots. Scott Paxton’s lifeless body is only inches away from me. Suddenly, a hard body crashes into mine.

His woodsy smell hits my nose first, and I close my eyes in relief. The chaos continues around us, but Nero pulls me tightly into him. I look up to see Jasper guarding him with his gun out in front of him.

“Let’s go!” Nero yells to Jasper before lifting me off the ground and rushing down the steps.

We run until Louie appears at the back of the building. Nero pushes me inside. Swarms of cop cars race past us as we flee in the opposite direction.

“What the fuck was that?” Louie shouts from behind the window.

“Looks like someone isn’t too fond of the Councilman,” Jasper states the obvious, his brows furrowing as he looks at the blood on my white boots.

Nero moves in closer to me.

“Are you hurt?” he asks.

When I flinch at his hand reaching towards me, his eyes fill with concern.

“How do you know Officer Greyson?” I stutter, moving to the other end of the limo.

“I don’t know him. I just met him today. How do you know him?” he asks.

Adrenaline courses through me. I try my best to read into his answer, but the only conclusion I come to is that he’s telling the truth.

“That. That guy. He-”

“Did he hurt you?” Nero asks, moving towards me.

His concerned stare drifts from my face over my body and to the blood streaking over my boots. He pulls the boots off, throwing them to the other end of the limo.

My heart beats outside my chest, and I need to feel the warmth of his body. Climbing into his lap, I wrap my armsaround him, desperate to melt into his embrace. Letting the beat of his heart calm me before I take a deep breath.

“The night Cassiel kidnapped us, he sent that cop. He said he had to search us, but then he just sort of felt us up.” I think back on the memory of that day.

“Is this necessary?” I ask.

“I can’t risk one of you mamacitas shooting me, now, can I?” he says in a thick Texan accent. I cringe at the nickname.

He pushes my head into the car. I tense the moment his hands touch me. My body freezes the way it did all those years ago. I close my eyes and try to picture myself anywhere but here. He starts by patting me down as one would in a regular procedure. I try to focus on the sound of cars driving past us. His hands move to my front, over my thin cotton tank top, and he reaches into my shirt. Bile rises in my throat as he fondles me.

I close my eyes. I drown out the moans falling from his mouth. I count the seconds. Count my breaths, desperate to block out his touch. I stay there like that while he continues to assault me, cupping me from outside my jeans. When I finally feel the absence of him, I open my eyes to see him grabbing Genesis. I stare at her lost expression. The tears streaming down her face mirror mine. We’ve been here before. It is a traumatic bond we never wanted to share. Secrets we never spoke of. We were crying then, and we are crying now.

Nero’s hands tighten around me as I tell him what happened. It feels almost freeing to speak about it. As a woman, it was always a challenge to come forward as a victim of sexual assault.

There was this fear that what happened to you would be considered insufficient. Unrelatable because who was I to cry about fondling when other women were subjected to worse?

My Tia Ponciana’s words would surface about my clothing choice, or my inner critic would point out my depraved sexualtaste. Like those reasonings excused someone from taking advantage of my body.

Get over it. The inner critic repeats, but I can’t. The thought of that day still had me clawing at my insides.

“He’ll pay for that,” Nero whispers into my ear.

“Do you know who took me that night?” I ask into his chest. Rough hands glide over my hair as I cling to him.

“No.”

I stare downat the ring on my finger for what seems like an eternity before I drop my hand back into the water when I see Nero approaching the bathroom door.

“Hey,” he says.

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