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“Brian,” I cried, unable to control my shaking hands. “He’s in my apartment.”
Brian let me go and guided me toward the stairs. “I’ll handle it. My wife has already called the station. She’s waiting for you. You’ll be safe.”
Quickly, I made it down the stairs before anyone else in the apartment complex could rush outside to see me. Brian’s wife, Emily, hurried outside when she saw me and draped a blanket over my shoulders.
“Come on. Let’s get you inside.” She pulled me into hers and Brian’s apartment just as the sirens wailed in the distance. “You’re safe, Peyton,” Emily murmured, pulling me into her arms. “You’re going to be okay.”
“Am I?” I sobbed, holding onto her. “I don’t know if I believe that.”
* * *
It was a night from hell.
Brian had apprehended the intruder, who was now on his way to the hospital due to the severe gashes I’d inflicted. Emily helped clean me up and gave me a fresh set of clothes before I was taken to the police station to provide my statement. I was beyond exhausted and ready for it all to end.
My dad glanced back at me through the rearview mirror, and I could see the anger in his eyes. He was like a madman when he showed up at the apartment. I know he wanted to kill the man who attacked me, and he probably would’ve if given a chance. Brian told me that if I’d slashed the guy just an inch over on his neck, I would’ve hit his jugular, and he probably would’ve bled to death. I went numb when I heard that. I didn’t feel guilty or sorry that I almost killed a man. If I hadn’t fought back, there was no telling what he would’ve done to me. In a way, I wished I had killed him.
“It’s going to be okay,” my mom murmured, rubbing a hand up and down my arm.
“Let me guess,” I said, resting my head against the back of the seat, “the news stations are probably swarming around my apartment, right?”
I looked over at my mom and she sighed. “Just a little. You’re going to make major headlines this morning.”
“Great,” I grumbled. “I thought my time here at home was going to be peaceful.” Tears streamed down my cheeks, but they were angry tears. The place that had been my haven was now violated, tainted. “I can’t go back there. I don’t want to ever go back to my apartment.”
My mom cuddled me in her arms. “And you’re not going to. Once the police are done, I have a crew of guys going to clean the place up and move your things out. It’s time you found somewhere secure live. In the meantime, you’ll stay with your dad and me until something suitable is found.”
It didn’t surprise me that she’d already made that decision without telling me. The less I had to deal with, the better. When we arrived at my parents’ house, I went inside and took another shower, letting the soap and hot water clean every square inch of my body. I couldn’t scrub my hands enough. I didn’t want any trace of that man’s blood on me.
Once out of the shower, I wrapped a towel around my body and looked in the mirror. My eyes were swollen and red, and I looked like death. Also, right there on my neck was the hickey Ethan gave me. Groaning, I trudged into my old bedroom and put on a pair of fuzzy pajama pants and a T-shirt. A blanket was on my bed, so I snatched it up and wrapped it around my shoulders to hide the mark on my neck.
Voices other than my parents echoed from downstairs, and I slowly made my way to the living room to see who was there. When I turned the corner, Brian was standing with my parents, and across the room was Ethan and his parents, along with Camden and Brooklyn, Ethan’s aunt and uncle, who were close family friends.
The second mine and Ethan’s eyes locked onto each other, he rushed over and folded his arms around me. “Fuck, Peyton. Are you okay?”
Tears sprung to my eyes, and I clutched him tight. “I am now.”
I didn’t want him to let me go, but he did when Brian called out my name. He came up to me and held out my phone. “This was in your bedroom. I figured you’d need it.”
“Thanks,” I said, taking it from him. There were several missed calls from Reagan, Braden, and my agent. I texted Reagan and my brother and told them I was okay and would talk to them later. Brian smiled sadly at me, and I hugged him. “Thank you for coming to my rescue tonight.”
He and his wife had been my downstairs neighbors since Reagan and I moved into the apartment. They were in their mid-thirties trying to save up to buy a house in Malibu. I had never been so thankful to have a police officer live near me.
Brian let me go and laughed. “You did all the work tonight, Peyton. The guys and I were impressed at how hard you fought back.”
It all played out in my head, and it almost felt like a bad dream. I wished it was.
“What were you able to find out about the guy?” my dad asked, coming up behind Brian.
Sighing, Brian kept his eyes on me. “His name is Peter Dellinger, thirty-four years old and an LA resident his whole life. Some of my fellow police officers went to his place and found some disturbing things there.”
Swallowing hard, I wrapped my arms around my stomach. “Like what?”
Brian glanced around the room. “It’s pretty sick, Peyton. He had a room with nothing but your pictures on the walls, ones cut out from the tabloids, and even ones with you at your apartment.” By the disturbed expression on his face, there was more to the story. I was almost afraid to hear it.
“What else?” I asked.
With a clenched jaw, Brian’s gaze averted to the floor. “I’m not sure you’ll want to hear the rest.”
