CHAPTER FOUR

JASMIN

Oh God. Please—please save me.

My heart thundered against my ribs so violently I swore the sound carried through the narrow, dark street. The night air was cool, brushing against my damp skin, but it did nothing to soothe the panic clawing its way through me. Every instinct screamed for me to run, to scream, to do something—but my body was locked in place, frozen like prey caught in headlights.

The flickering bulb above the apartment entrance threw uneven shadows across the brick wall, stretching and warping them like claws reaching for me. My gaze darted frantically—left, right, down the empty road. No headlights. No footsteps. No voices. Nothing but silence.

The silence that always came before the worst.

Lisa was upstairs, probably blasting music again, lost in her own world like always. She wouldn’t hear me. She never did. And the neighbors? They hadn’t cared before. Not the night I first screamed and kicked and begged for help while Max held me down. Not when my throat went raw from shouting his name in rage and terror.

No one came.

Only a stranger from two blocks away called the police that time. That call had saved me.

And now… here he was again.

Max.

The monster that haunted me.

I stumbled back until my palms found the rough brick of the wall, pressing into it like I could disappear inside if I pushed hard enough. My breath came ragged, short, painful.

He stepped closer, each movement deliberate, slow—like a predator enjoying the game. Tall. Blond. Blue-eyed. That easy, country-boy charm that once fooled everyone. The smile that used to melt strangers into thinking he was safe.

But I knew better.

That smile was poison.

“What do you want, Max?” My voice shook, thin and frail against the darkness.

He tilted his head, eyes gleaming with cruel amusement. “You know if you run, I’ll catch you,” he said, his tone almost conversational, like he was discussing the weather. He took another step forward. “And if you scream this time…” His lips curved into a smirk. “I’ll have to bind you.”

My stomach dropped. My chest tightened, a vise squeezing every ounce of air out of me.

“Max,” I said again, louder, fighting to keep my voice steady. “What do you want?”

He laughed. That low, menacing sound that crawled under my skin.

“Jass… Jass…” he crooned, using the nickname that had once been playful, but now made bile rise in my throat.

I flinched.

“You know exactly what I want.” His gaze dragged over me, violating without a single touch. “I want you. I’ve always wanted you.”

I wrapped my arms around myself, suddenly aware of every inch of exposed skin—my bare legs, the thin fabric of my tank top. Shame and fear twisted together. Did I bring this on? Was it my fault? Alex’s warning about my clothes echoed in my head.

No. No. Nothing justified this. Nothing.

“You’re insane, Max,” I spat, though my voice cracked.

His smile widened into something grotesque. “Maybe. But I’m hard for you.” He grabbed himself through his jeans, the vulgar gesture making my stomach churn. “And tonight, you’ll finally give me what I’ve wanted all along. You can make it easy…” He leaned closer, breath hot against my face. “…or hard. Either way, I’ll get it.”

“No,” I whispered, shaking my head.

He lunged. His hand clamped around my waist, yanking me off balance, dragging me against the wall. My skull smacked brick, pain exploding at the back of my head.

I screamed.

“Please! Don’t do this, Max!” Tears blurred my vision, spilling hot and fast.

“Fuck, I love it when you beg,” he growled, his lips brushing my ear. “Your tears… they turn me on.”

His face pressed into my neck, inhaling me like I was oxygen, his stubble scraping my skin. The stench of alcohol filled my senses. My stomach heaved.

“No—stop!” I thrashed, kicking, clawing, my nails raking across his cheek. I felt skin tear. Wet warmth. Blood.

He howled, stumbling back a step. “Fucking bitch!” His hand whipped across my face, the slap cracking so loud I heard the echo bounce off the walls. My vision flashed white.

“You want to fight me?” His breath came fast now, ragged, furious. He yanked at my shorts, fumbling with the zipper. “Then I’ll make it rough.”

Terror surged through me like fire. My lungs burned. My body shook so violently I could barely stand. This was it. My first time. My worst nightmare.

“Max, please—”

“Shut the fuck up!” His hand clamped over my mouth, his other shoving my hand toward his zipper. “It’ll be a quick fuck. You’ll even like it.”

My sobs came muffled, broken, suffocating against his palm.

I was slipping. I was losing.

Fight. The word pulsed like lightning in my skull. Fight.

Summoning everything left inside me, I shoved my nails into his face again, dragging down hard, deeper this time. His skin split beneath my claws.

He roared, jerking back. “Fucking cunt!”

His fist slammed into the wall beside my head. Brick dust sprinkled down. My breath seized.

And then—

“HEY! HEY! Stop! DAD! CALL THE POLICE! He’s hurting her!”

The voice. High, sharp. A boy’s voice.

Max froze.

A child’s silhouette appeared at the corner of the street, framed in the dim glow of a streetlamp.

Max cursed, fumbling to zip up his pants. His eyes burned into mine, wild and desperate. He grabbed my cheeks, his nails biting into my skin.

“You’re a lucky bitch,” he spat. His voice dropped to a venomous whisper. “But I’ll be back, Jasmin. You will be mine.”

And just like that—he was gone. Melting into the shadows, fleeing like the coward he truly was.

My knees buckled. I slid down the wall, gasping, shaking so violently I couldn’t catch my breath.

Safe. For now. But broken.

Heavy footsteps pounded toward me. A man’s voice, deep, urgent: “Where is he?!”

I looked up, blinking through tears. “He ran… he ran away.” My voice fractured, trembling.

The sobs broke free, uncontrollable, wracking my body. I didn’t care how I looked—makeup smeared, hair wild, shirt stained with blood. None of it mattered. I was alive.

The boy skidded to a stop in front of me, panting, his face flushed with both fear and courage. No older than eight, but braver than anyone I’d ever known.

I grabbed his small hands, clutching them tight, then bent to kiss his forehead. My tears dripped onto his skin. “Thank you. Thank you, sweet boy.”

“You’re welcome, Miss,” he said, his grin wide, proud. “I like helping people.”

“This is my son, Jack,” the man behind him said, his voice steady but edged with concern.

 “And this is my dad, Ryan Smith.” Jack said in a lively voice.

I looked up. Ryan Smith. Tall. Broad shoulders. Brown eyes warm and kind, grounding me when I felt like I was still falling. A man who radiated protection without even trying.

“Thank you, Mr Smith," I whispered, forcing my trembling hand into his. “I’m Jasmin. It’s… nice to meet you.”

Ryan clasped my hand gently, like he knew it had been hurt. “Call me Ryan. ‘Mr. Smith’ makes me sound old.”

I laughed, choked but real. “You’re not old. You’re just… very tall.”

He chuckled. "I get that a lot."

"I haven't seen you guys around here before." I would have definitely remembered meeting them, it's a small neighborhood. 

 “We’re not from around here. Just passing by to check on someone.”

“Well, I’m glad you were at the right place at the right time.” I exhaled shakily. “At least for me.”

His lips curved and he turned to his son. “Jack’s braver than me tonight.”

Jack puffed his chest proudly . “And you’re so beautiful,” he blurted out.

Despite everything—despite the terror, the shaking, the tears—I laughed again. A raw, broken sound, but real.

“You’re handsome too, Jack,” I said, ruffling his hair.

Hope flickered inside me, faint but alive. For the first time in a long time, I felt it.

Hope.