Chapter 15
Ella
ASHER: Still awake?
My gaze flicks from my phone back to my computer screen, the clock in the corner reading almost three AM. My music is still blasting in my ears, so I tug my headphones off.
ME: Yep! I’m in a good flow. Why are you up?
Groaning, I stretch, wiggling my toes and finally placing my laptop aside. I’d love to say that my writing spree is all natural, but I know I’m distracting myself from the conversation with Asher earlier.
He’s leaving.
Leaving, and probably never coming back.
He’d always said his visit was temporary, but I also didn’t think I’d enjoy spending time with him this much. I didn’t think I’d miss the random guy I met in Barnaby’s apartment, but now I can’t imagine days without him.
It fucking sucks.
ASHER: Got a lot on my mind
I sigh, not knowing what to even say back. Is it me he’s thinking about, or the mystery reason Gable needed him?
ASHER: I don’t want to leave
My heart clenches.
ME: Can’t freelance computer guys work from anywhere?
ASHER: It’s more complicated than that
ME: then explain it to me. Maybe we can figure something out together
He reads the message immediately but doesn’t respond as quickly as before.
Shit.
You were too pushy! Backtrack!
How?!
I toss my phone onto the armchair, too scared to keep it in my hand. I’ll double or even triple text him if he doesn’t reply in the next thirty seconds.
“I’m clingy,” I scold myself, walking to the bathroom to splash cold water on my face and give myself a talking to in the mirror.
I pulled on a sweatshirt earlier to fight off the evening chill, but other than that, I look exactly the same as I did when Asher made me come so hard I saw stars.
“Except now you’ve scared him off,” I hiss at my reflection. “No more orgasms for you.”
A clang from the living room has my reflection frowning at me.
What was that?
I lean out of the bathroom, eyeing the darkened living room. I only have a single lamp on while I write, so I can just about make out the back of the couch and the door. I listen, the silence stretching, but there’s no other sound.
Maybe it was the neighbor upstairs? He is notoriously loud.
Or maybe it’s a serial killer.
I roll my eyes and focus on washing my face, foaming up my skin then rinsing it off. I’ve just finished brushing my teeth when I hear the distinct sound of a door closing.
My heart lunges into overdrive. Fear keeps me fixed in place, my damp toothbrush still in hand. Not a suitable weapon if someone is in my apartment.
Phone, Ella. Where’s your phone?
I squeeze my eyes closed. It’s in the living room.
But maybe what I heard really was the neighbor. This is a safe building. In all the years I’ve lived here, there hasn’t been a single burglary or crime.
With slow footsteps, I make my way into the living room. I scan the room. Door, couch, side table, balcony doors, TV—
Man.
Drenched in shadows and watching me from the corner of the room, he steps forward. My scream is caught and lost as I bolt for the door. Heavy footfalls approach quickly, and I throw the door open—and I scream.
He grips my hair and yanks me off my feet and back into the apartment. I’m thrown over the couch, crashing into the coffee table and rolling toward the balcony doors. Pain reverberates through my body, blood fills my mouth, and my head is spinning too much to make out where or who he is.
I’m going to die.
People don’t come to inspect screams, do they? Even if my neighbors are awake, they’ll pass it off as a sound they misheard. They’ll think I’m watching a horror film, or that I stubbed my toe—
“No,” I whimper as the man grips the back of my sweatshirt and lifts me.
He grips my throat and slams me into the balcony doors, the glass quaking against the impact, and I stare into his face.
He’s my age, blonde, and I stare into his eyes—the darkest green, flecked with hazel and gold.
A pretty sight. The final thing I’ll see.
“Please.”
It’s the last word I say before he lifts me off my feet, his large hand still around my throat. I scratch at him, kicking my legs to find the floor again, but it’s useless.
He’s strong.
I’m not.
Ella, don’t give up!
I try to claw at his eyes, his hand, his arm, but even when I draw blood, he doesn’t react. He just squeezes.
And squeezes.
Darkness webs my vision.
My throat burns.
My hands tremble as I try to release myself from his grip.
And I wonder why.
What did I do?
Why is he doing this?
Does it matter?
I squeeze my eyes closed, tears spilling down my cheeks, and I think of my dad.
My dad who taught me to fight, who tried to prepare me for the horrors of the world. He’ll think he failed me. He’ll blame himself.
I open my eyes again and decide if I can’t fight, I can at least look my killer in the face as I die.
A shadow behind him catches my eye. Movement. A familiar face.
Gable.
Air.
I choke, the intruder’s hand loosening before he’s yanked away from me.
My feet meet the floor, and I fall to my knees. I try to scream, but it hurts too much, and I lift my head and watch Gable punch the intruder—hard. His knuckles crack against cheekbone and I wince as the sound reverberates off the walls.
“You picked the wrong night to piss me off,” Gable growls.
And he attacks.
My eyes widen as I watch Gable throw fist after fist into the intruder’s face. It’s relentless, a bloodied, frenzied hammering of knuckles until I can’t watch anymore. Closing my eyes, I start humming, anything to block out the sound of splitting skin and breaking bones.
You’re okay, Ella. We’re okay.
A snap.
Like a twig in a dead forest.
Silence.
Hands grip my shoulders, and I shove at them, letting out a rasping screech as I try to scramble away.
“Gibson, it’s me!”
My eyes meet Gable’s dark ones, his gaze piercing into mine. His face is peppered in blood, his hands on my upper arms to keep me steady. Hands he just used to kill the man on the floor.
A murderer.
He frowns. “I’ll get Asher—”
I let out a sob and cling to him, wrapping my arms around his neck. My tears soak his T-shirt, my grip ironclad, and he rests his hands on my back.
A killer, yes. A violent one.
But he saved my life.
“You’re okay,” he says quietly as he guides me to my feet.
That only makes me cry harder, and my legs almost give way when I hear Asher call out my name.
His face is filled with panic as he rushes into the apartment. I tear myself from Gable and run to him, letting him lift me into his arms, his embrace firm as I sob into his shoulder.
“I’m here.” He pulls back to examine my face, his hands cupping my cheeks. “Did he hurt you?” I shake my head and press myself to him again, never wanting to leave his arms again.
Asher laces his fingers through mine and presses a kiss to my temple.
“Are you sure you don’t need anything?”
I shake my head, the sounds and smells of the police station fading when I’m close to him.
The moment I stopped crying, I called my dad, and he had officers over in minutes.
It was hard to explain what happened with my throat hurting so damn much, but I was checked over and with some rest, I’ll be fine. Physically, anyway.
When I got a good look at the intruder, I didn’t recognize him. My dad didn’t, either, which means it’s likely not someone he put away who wanted to carry out revenge via me.
But he had a bag with him. Duct tape, rope, knives.
I almost vomited when I saw it.
Now, we’re at the station because Gable is being questioned. It’s been hours, and I’ve insisted to my dad that it isn’t necessary, that if it weren’t for him I’d be dead or worse, but he wouldn’t listen.
“They show up, you’re attacked, and he’s the first one on the scene? I’m not buying it. He killed someone, Ella.”
Yes. For me.
The doors to the station have been opening and closing all night, so I keep my eyes fixed on the room Gable is in when I feel the rush of air. Asher’s hand tightens on mine, then it’s gone.
My attention shifts from him to the man who has just walked in, and I hold my breath.
He’s tall, broad, in his early forties. His dark hair is tinged with gray, his beard the same. In a three-piece navy suit, he looks ready for business or court, despite it being five in the morning.
“I’ll be back,” Asher says, and stands.
They embrace, Asher half clinging to the man. The man says something in his ear, and Asher nods before pulling back. They speak for a few moments, the stranger’s eyes flicking to the room where Gable is.
And then to me.
I stand slowly, and Asher reaches out his hand. I go to him.
“This is Ella,” Asher says, pulling me to his side. “Ella, this is Hunter DeLuca. He’s a friend.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Miss Gibson,” Hunter says, the lightest blue eyes I’ve ever seen scrutinizing me. I almost shrink back, but after the night I’ve had, I refuse to be frightened anymore.
“And you,” I whisper, my throat scratchy.
Hunter’s gaze drops to my bruised neck. “I’m so sorry this happened to you. It must have been incredibly frightening.”
I nod, leaning into Asher’s hold. “I’ll be okay. I’m tougher than I look.”
“I imagine you are,” he says, then squeezes Asher’s shoulder. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to find out what’s happening with Gable.”
He leaves, and Asher watches him go.
“A friend?” I ask quietly.
He nods. “More like a dad we needed growing up.” He kisses my head again. “He’ll fix this.”
I have no doubt he will.