Page 83 of The Comedown

His rancid breath heats my already clammy face as his erection digs into my abdomen, and a scream tries to make its way up my throat. Last time this happened, I let the scream out and help never came.

You’ve been here before and escaped. You can do it again.

Right?

I have one arm left. I just have to use it correctly, I think as I eye the side of the bus.

They can’t do anything too bad in front of all these people watching. In front of Julian watching. Is Julian watching? He’d never let this kind of thing happen.

The problem with that is…Julian isn’t here. Julez is, and Julez is unpredictable, unreliable, and…he’s not actually here at all.

It’s not like expecting a man to come to my rescue ever did me any good anyway. My name’s tattooed on my back for a reason. Because in moments like this, I can’t trust anyone but myself.

Wrapping my free arm around the foul-breathed remora’s neck, I pull him against me even harder, blocking out the feel of his body against mine, then roll with all my might, twisting my legs so quickly and tightly into a tangle, the other remora’s forced to release them. The two of us roll off the side of the bus together and into the pulsing crowd below. The dozens of other hands that catch us help pull us apart as I kick out at the remora, getting him as far from me as possible, but then they turn on me, too. Strange hands groping my crotch and breasts feel as invasive as the remoras’ attack, but I have to block it out, drawing on the arsenal I always keep at the ready, and bend myself in half so my ass sinks. I manage to shake one of my legs free, dropping it under me. Once my foot touches solid ground, I push as hard as I can, trying my best to part the sea of limbs and smoke and desperation. I just want out.

A large hand breaks through, grabbing one of mine, and yanks me past everyone else’s. Bare’s face appears a second before his apology does, followed only by another, and another.

“I gotta get you out of here. He’s gonna kill me. He’s gonna kill everyone. Fuck.”

He tucks my trembling frame against him like a football in a wide receiver’s hold when he books it for the end zone, then pushes through the throng of people until we eventually come upon a blacked-out SUV idling just past the thickest part of the crowd.

“Thank you,” I tell him through cold lips as he places me in the back seat, buckling me in.

“Please don’t thank me. I didn’t do my job.”

“You weren’t able to get Julian out of there?”

He shakes his head once. “I was trying to get to him when Axel got me.”

“And you left Julian to help me?” Bare is Julian’s bodyguard, not mine. His job is to keep Julian safe and alive. He lost his boss in a mob of crazed fans and just…abandoned him there…for me.

Bare gives me a confused kind of stare, then sighs, rubbing a hand over his beard. “Per Julian’s instructions.”

“What instructions?”

“Julian made it very, very clear that if it were to ever come down to him or you, that I’m to go for you first. And if Holter’s present, then I’m to help Holter first because Julian knows you’d choose Holter over yourself.”

Of course, I would. I love Holter more than life itself.

“When he kept repeating your name from the crowd, I didn’t realize it was because you were here. I thought he was asking after you like he always does.”

“Always?”

He nods slowly, glancing behind him, and saying distractedly, “I assumed that’s all it was because everyone thought you’d left for the night. It wasn’t until Axel got my attention that I saw you hadn’t.” Bare looks back at me. “I’m sorry I didn’t get to you sooner and I’m sorry for what happened. If Julian lets me live, I hope you can forgive me.”

There’s nothing to forgive because it’s not Bare’s fault. The only people responsible are the aggressors.

The sympathy in his eyes brings tears to mine, and all I can do is whisper, “Find him.” Julian putting me and my son first doesn’t change the fact that he’s still in need of saving himself.

With a final nod, Bare tells the driver, “Make sure you get her to a hotel safely.” Then he closes the door on the noise but not the memory of what just took place.

One memory leads to two, then enough to burst a hole in the dam I’ve kept in place for well over a decade.

“Which hotel, miss?”

I don’t need a hotel. I need my son, the reason I learned how to fight so hard to begin with.

Through a sob, I give him the address to David’s estate, then press my head to the headrest, letting the memories flow as freely as the tears streaming down my face.