His Entertainer

chapter 36

GENEVIEVE POV.

(Past Narration continues....)

Darkness. The coppery tang of blood filled the air, a grim perfume clinging to the suffocating silence. Pain, a brutal, relentless tide, washed over me as I woke. I was still in that hellish room, but alone. Utterly, terrifyingly alone. The emptiness pressed in, a suffocating weight. I searched for reassurance, for a sign that this was a nightmare, but there was only the chilling silence and the lingering scent of violence.

Ignoring the searing pain that pulsed through my body, I pushed myself off the bed. My legs trembled, weak and unsteady, but I had to escape. This time, thankfully, the door wasn't locked.

The hallway stretched before me, a long, echoing corridor punctuated by the relentless pulse of the music. It was deserted, the silence amplifying the throbbing beat. I forced myself to walk faster, to push past the nausea and the dizzying fuzziness that threatened to overwhelm me. But the pain... it was a living thing, tearing through me, relentless and unforgiving. It felt as though they were still inside me, their violation a constant, searing reminder. The images, sharp and brutal, replayed in my mind, each one a fresh wound.

I couldn't go on. The pain was too much. I sank to the floor, gasping for breath, trying to gather my strength, to regain control. The memories, vivid and brutal, clawed at the edges of my mind, threatening to pull me under.

Then, footsteps. A man appeared at the top of the stairs, his shadow falling long and menacing across the hallway. Terror seized me, a cold fist clenching around my heart. I tried to rise, to flee, but my body refused to obey. Tears streamed down my face, a silent testament to my despair.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he said, his voice surprisingly calm. But his words held no comfort. As he approached, I tried to crawl away, a desperate, instinctive movement that led me, ironically, back toward the room I had just escaped.

"I'm losing my patience," he said, the calm facade shattering. His tone shifted from a false gentleness to something cold and predatory. "Leave me alone!" I cried, my voice raw with fear.

"I couldn't exactly fuck a fainting girl," he sneered, his words dripping with contempt. "So I waited. And here you are." He spoke as if he had achieved some perverse victory.

He lunged, his large hands pinning me to the ground. I was too weak, too broken to fight back. His legs straddled mine, and the tears flowed freely, but the screams were trapped in my throat. I had given up. Not in that moment, not completely, but I had surrendered to the crushing weight of despair. My future was a blank canvas, devoid of hope.

Then, a gunshot. A single, sharp report that sliced through the silence. He froze, a single, dark hole blooming between his eyes before he collapsed onto me. I remained frozen, my body numb, as if glued to the floor. A man appeared, shoving the corpse aside. Five large men stood there, and then... a boy, only a few years older than me.

My face was streaked with tears and blood. The boy looked down at me, his expression unreadable. "Get her on her feet," he commanded, his voice devoid of emotion. The men obeyed instantly.

Two of them helped me up, but I couldn't stand straight. Blood stained my dress, a dress fit for a whore. Bruises bloomed across my skin, a grotesque tapestry of violence. I tried to cover them, but it was futile. The boy stepped forward, his leather jacket falling over my trembling body. I could only cry, the tears a silent torrent of pain and relief. I wanted to thank him, but the words wouldn't come.

"How old are you?" he asked, his voice low and steady, his gaze intense.

"Fifteen," I whispered, my voice barely audible.

"What's your name?"

"Jennifer Logan," I breathed, the name a ghost of my former life.

"Come with me," he offered.

"I can't. Lazarro-" I began, but he cut me off. "I know. I took care of him. His life or death is in your hands now."

"How did you know?" I asked, my mind reeling.

"I didn't, not until today. I had business with him. He messed with the wrong people. I came for him, but you... you were part of the equation." He spoke with a chilling calm.

I swayed, my legs unsteady. He caught me before I fell. "He killed my family," I sobbed, my strength finally giving way.

"This world is cruel. I'm not a good person. I kill to survive. I can't give you a better life, but I can offer you family. We survive together, or we don't survive at all," he whispered. Despite everything, I felt a flicker of hope. "What's your name?" I asked.

He smiled, a small one
"Hermann Rodriguez."

"Hermann," I repeated, the name a fragile anchor in the storm. The world blurred, then faded to black.

Three days later, I woke to the soft light filtering through the curtains. My head throbbed, my body ached, but I was safe. The room was simple, but comfortable, painted a gentle sky blue, though a hastily covered dark stain on the wall hinted at the recent violence. A small smile touched my lips. Hermann entered, my new family. "Finally, I don't have to stick around anymore," he joked, a hint of weariness in his voice. I giggled, a sound so unexpected it startled me.

"Thank you," I whispered.

He sat beside me, taking my hand. "I can't promise to be the ideal brother, but I will protect you with everything I have." He paused, his gaze serious. "Jenifer Logan is dead to the world. You are Genevieve Rodriguez now."

Tears streamed down my face. "But what do I do?" I asked, my voice choked with emotion.

"Genevieve Rodriguez survives," he said gently. "Turn your pain into power."

"I have one request, as Jenifer Logan," I said, finding a strength I didn't know I possessed.

"State it."

"I want Lazarro's head on a spike," I said, my voice firm.

"Done," he said, his eyes unwavering.

I threw my arms around him, sobbing uncontrollably. He held me, a silent promise of protection and a new beginning.

The funeral was difficult, but necessary. Life with Hermann wasn't easy. He was flawed, dangerous, but he was also fiercely loyal and protective. He was my family. He celebrated my birthdays, bought me my first tampons, and even styled my hair. He taught me to fight, to shoot, to play the piano, to dance. He was my protector, my teacher, my brother. He illuminated the darkness. They called him the Devil, but to me, he was my angel. He made men kneel before me; he gave me power. But most of all... he loved me. He loves me.

(Past Narration Ends)

Morgan knelt, her gaze unwavering as she gently wiped away my tears. "Why are you telling me all this?" she asked, her voice soft, her touch surprisingly comforting. She held my hands, her grip firm but gentle, a grounding presence in the swirling chaos of my memories.

"I want you to know that he's more than just a Mafia boss," I said, my voice catching slightly. "He's capable of love, of fierce protection. Ivy is safe with him."

Morgan's brow furrowed. "You, my girl... are you sure he was a good influence on you?" she asked, her tone laced with concern.

A small smile touched my lips, despite the lingering ache in my heart. "Good or bad, he made the best of me," I said, the words a testament to the complex, often brutal, path that had forged me. Tears welled up again, but this time, they were tears of gratitude, of a hard-won peace.

She pulled me into a hug, her arms enfolding me in a warm embrace. "It wasn't fair," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "What happened to you... it wasn't fair." She held me tighter, her embrace a comforting haven. It felt like a mother's love, a warmth I hadn't known since my own mother was taken from me. For years, I'd bottled up my pain, hoping it would simply vanish, but what I truly needed was this - something warmer, softer, more nurturing than even Hermann's protective embrace. In Morgan's arms, I finally allowed myself to melt, to release the years of pent-up grief.
The tears flowed freely, a cleansing release. I had found solace, not in the arms of a lover, but in the comforting embrace of a mother.

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NB: ignore any grammatical mistakes.