His Entertainer

chapter 35

AUTHOR'S NOTE
   WARNING ⚠️: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS SEXUAL VIOLENCE, THAT MAY DISTURB SOME OF YOU. DO NOT READ FURTHER IF SO.

(Past Narration)

                     GENEVIEVE POV.

   The world was once a kaleidoscope of candy-colored delights, a sky perpetually bright.  Innocence, as vast as the daylight sky, shielded me from the gathering storm clouds, the impending downpour.  The earth, unbeknownst to me, was preparing a battle I was ill-equipped to fight.

It began one night.

"Jennifer, wake up," my mother's voice, laced with worry, sliced through the darkness. "Mom—it's late," I mumbled.  Her urgency disregarded my protest. I watched, numb, as she frantically packed my clothes.

"Are we going on vacation?" I asked, a naive question echoing in the suffocating tension.  The frantic energy around me screamed anything but vacation.  Even then, she remained silent, her movements sharp and precise.

Finally, she dragged me from the bed, her grip harsh. "Mom, you're hurting me! Tell me what's wrong!" I cried.

"Get in the car!" she yelled, shoving me from the room.  My father, his face grim, was on the phone, engaged in a heated argument. For the first time, he passed me like a ghost, his presence as chilling as his absence.

Angelo, my twelve-year-old brother, was already in the car.  Tears welled in my eyes, blurring the nonsensical scene unfolding before me.  "Angelo, what's going on?" I whispered, my voice trembling.

"I don't know, but it's okay. I've got you," he said, his arms opening wide. I clung to him, seeking solace in his embrace. He was always the stronger one, my protector, the one who spoke up for me while I hid in his shadow.  That comfort was all I had left.

My parents joined us, their faces etched with fear, a stark contrast to the image of strength and wealth I'd always known.  The Logans, a powerful family, were fleeing something.  It was surreal, terrifying.

"Dad, please tell us what's happening," I pleaded, my voice choked with sobs.

"It's okay, baby girl," my mother reassured, her voice strained.

"Everything will be fine, my love," my father added, his words hollow against the backdrop of his frantic driving.

"Have you talked to Bernard?" my mother asked my father in a hushed tone.

"Bernard says he has no room. We're going to Monica's," he replied, his grip on the steering wheel white-knuckled.

"You'll be safe with Aunt Monica for a few days," my mother explained, her voice trembling.

"What—" I began, but Angelo interrupted.

"Just think of it as a visit," he said, his voice surprisingly steady.

My father drove recklessly, my mother's hands shaking.  Suddenly, seven cars blocked our path.  My father's breath hitched.  My mother's eyes, filled with stark terror, met mine.

"Listen, my beautiful babies," she said shakily, "those people… they're bad people. They'll hurt us if we stop."

"Why are bad people after us, Mom?" I cried, the fear finally overwhelming me.  I'd never known fear before.

They exchanged a look, then turned to us.  "Lately, Mom and Dad haven't been doing business with… good people," my mother explained gently.

"We did it for you," my father added, his voice thick with regret. "We never knew it would turn out like this."

In that moment, I saw the depth of their fear, a fear that resonated deep within my bones.  A premonition, sharp and chilling, pierced my heart.

"Jennifer, Angelo… we're so sorry," my mother whispered, her voice breaking.

My sobs intensified, a physical pain constricting my chest and lungs. My mother produced a gun – the first I'd ever seen outside of movies.  The terror wasn't the gun itself, but the transformation of my mother, her hand steady as she fired at the men while my father floored the gas pedal.

Angelo held me close, his arms a fragile shield against the chaos.  The gunfire echoed, each shot a hammer blow to my soul.

"It's going to be okay," he whispered, his voice a lifeline in the storm.

"But Angelo, what if it's not?" I choked out.

"Then it's not the end," he answered, offering a brave smile, a smile I would cling to in the darkest hours.

I clung to his words, to the hope they offered.

Then, blinding headlights, then,
The hospital bed. A throbbing head, a body wracked with pain. I struggled to speak, to move.

A nurse rushed to my side.  "What happened?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

"The car you were in was in a head-on collision," she replied.

"What… what happened to my family?" I asked, dread coiling in my stomach.

A deep voice answered, "They died instantly."

The nurse left, leaving me alone with the man who had delivered the devastating news. I tried to sit up but failed.  "You killed them," I accused, my voice filled with raw fury.  "You monster!"

"Nice to meet you too, Jennifer Logan," he said, a chillingly casual tone. "Now, listen carefully." He pulled up a chair and sat down.

"You see, your parents owed me a considerable sum.  Consider it a business deal gone wrong. They're dead, and there's no one to pay me back."

"Their accounts… they had money," I suggested desperately.

"Poor girl," he said, leaning back. "There's nothing in their accounts. But it's okay, I'm a good person."

"You're not! My mother said you were a bad person!" I retorted, tears streaming down my face.

"Your mother said a lot of things. That's how women are," he said, a cruel smile playing on his lips. "Your parents couldn't pay me back, but you can."

"Okay," I said, grasping at straws. "Just let me get out, gather our supporters, go through the family business, and we'll negotiate a payment plan."

"Soiled brat! You have nothing left!" he roared, standing up. "NOTHING!" He leaned closer, his voice a venomous hiss. "What don't you understand?"

Tears streamed down my face. "Then give me more time," I whispered, my voice barely audible.

"Sweetie, your parents took all the time there was. There's nothing left to give," he said, forcing my gaze to meet his.  "But there is one thing you can do…"

The following days, I was released from the hospital, a ghost in a city that had suddenly become alien and hostile.  Lazarro had plans for me, plans that plunged me into a nightmare far darker than the one I'd just escaped.  I found myself in a car, surrounded by menacing strangers, their presence as heavy as the grief crushing my soul.
The scars on my knees ached, a constant reminder of the trauma I had endured.
  I let the hoodie cover my face, and my hands touching the scars that we're still on my knees.
  "If I we're you, I would save my tears for later. His going to fuck the breath out of yah" the man who sat beside me said and others laughed.
  I was fifteen, I knew what's the meaning of fuck we would have inappropriate talks with my friends at school at sometimes or hear it from the movies our parents banned us from watching.
   But what I didn't understand was what they really meant by it.
 
   The car lurched to a halt.  Through the grimy window, the building loomed – a monolithic structure of dark glass and steel, utterly alien to anything I'd ever seen.  My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the suffocating silence of the car.  As I stumbled out, the chill night air bit at my exposed skin.  The men flanked me, their shadows stretching long and menacing in the harsh streetlights.

A hulking figure stood guard at the entrance, his face obscured by shadow. "By Lazarro," one of the men said, his voice a low rasp. The bodyguard moved aside, revealing a cavernous interior throbbing with bass and pulsing light.  The air inside was thick with the cloying scent of perfume, sweat, and something else… something sickeningly sweet and sharp, like fear itself.

It wasn't the club I'd imagined – not the glittering, glamorous place of sparkling lights and dancing.  This was a den of shadows, a place where darkness thrived.  Girls, barely older than me, clung to older men, their eyes vacant, their bodies bruised.  Others lay sprawled on plush velvet couches, their nudity shockingly blatant.  White powder glittered on a nearby table, reflecting the strobe lights in a macabre dance.

I wanted to scream, to run, but the man behind me shoved me forward, his hand a burning brand on my back.  Terror choked me, stealing my breath.  He shoved me towards a woman, her face hard and expressionless.

"Lazarro wants her in thirty minutes," the man said, his voice devoid of emotion.

The woman sized me up, her gaze cold and calculating. "Inexperienced," she muttered, her eyes lingering on my bruised knees.  "What's going on?" I whispered, the words caught in my throat.

"First lesson: shut up," she snapped, her hand flashing out, connecting with my cheek.  The world spun, then steadied into a sickening silence.

The next moments were a blur of rough hands, cold water, and the harsh sting of chemicals on my skin.  They stripped me, scrubbed me raw, and then dressed me in clothes that felt alien and degrading – a flimsy dress that barely concealed my body, my scars hidden beneath a mask of heavy makeup.  I stared at my reflection, a stranger staring back.  This wasn't me.  This was something... broken.

When they were done, they led me into a room that smelled of stale alcohol and despair.  Lazarro sat on a plush sofa, surrounded by empty bottles of whiskey and small, neatly-stacked piles of white powder.  The air hung heavy with the stench of his self-indulgence, a suffocating cloud that threatened to crush me

  Is this you, sweetie?" Lazarro asked, his voice a low purr that sent a shiver of revulsion down my spine.  The whiskey glass in his hand trembled slightly, mirroring the tremor in my own hands.  The air hung thick with the cloying scent of stale alcohol and something else… something acrid and sharp, like fear itself.

"Why am I here?" I croaked, my voice barely a whisper. The question hung in the air, unanswered, a testament to the suffocating terror that clamped down on my chest.  My eyes darted around the room, desperate for an escape route, but there was none.  Every exit was guarded by shadows, by the looming presence of Lazarro's men.  Their faces were impassive, their eyes glinting with a predatory hunger that made my stomach churn.

"You still don't get it, huh?" Lazarro chuckled, a harsh, grating sound that grated against my raw nerves.  His men joined in, their laughter echoing around me like a death knell.  I felt a wave of nausea rise in my throat; the cheap perfume clinging to the air, the sticky residue of spilled liquor on the table, the heavy weight of their gazes – all of it threatened to overwhelm me.

"I'm going to fuck you," he said, his words dripping with malice.  He took another slow sip of his drink, his eyes never leaving mine.  The ice clinking in the glass sounded deafeningly loud in the sudden silence that followed.

"I'd rather die," I choked out, the words a desperate plea, a final stand against the encroaching darkness.  I lunged for the door, my fingers scrabbling at the cold metal, but it was locked.  "No, no, no," I whispered, the words dissolving into a sob.

The laughter erupted again, louder this time, mocking my futile attempt at escape.  Strong hands seized my arm, yanking me back with brutal force.  I landed hard on the bed, the impact stealing the breath from my lungs.  Lazarro was looming over me, his face contorted in a cruel smile.

"I'm going to fuck you, and all my men will have the same pleasure. You whore!"  His voice was a venomous hiss, each word a brand seared onto my soul.
The ensuing struggle was a blur of desperate kicks and scrapes, of frantic attempts to escape his grasp.  His strength was overwhelming.  Each slap sent searing pain through my face, each time I tried to crawl away, he pulled me back, his grip tightening with each failed attempt.  My heartbeat pounded in my ears, a frantic drumbeat against the silence of my terror.

The force of his body, the weight of his presence, crushed the air from my lungs.
My screams were ragged, broken things, lost in the cacophony of his laughter and the heavy thud of his fists. 
The tearing, the violation, was a searing agony that stole my breath, my voice, my very being. 
The world narrowed to a single point of excruciating pain, a searing awareness violation.

The violation ended, but the horror didn't.  His men followed, each one a fresh wave of brutal invasion, my body became a battlefield, a landscape ravaged by their invasion. The air grew thick with the coppery tang of blood, mingling with the acrid stench of sweat and fear. Time ceased to exist, each assault a brutal eternity. 
Then, silence.  A suffocating, heavy silence that pressed down on me, leaving me gasping for breath in the suffocating darkness. 
When I finally opened my eyes, the room swam in a hazy blur. 
My body felt foreign, broken, a vessel emptied of its essence. 
The crushing weight of my loneliness descended, a cold, heavy blanket that stole the last vestiges of my hope. I was utterly, terrifyingly alone. 
The only sound was the ragged rasp of my own breath, a desperate plea for air.

   Thanks for reading this heartbreaking chapter my darling readers. Let it not break you too much, it's part of the journey. The beginning of a new life ahead.
NB: ignore any grammatical errors.