Chapter 30

Peyton

My eyes fluttered open, I felt slightly disoriented and a little groggy and I had a pounding headache. I groaned and turned my head, wondering where and when I'd fallen asleep and why my pillow felt so different. And then it all came rushing back.

Oh, shit.

Zachary appeared in front of me, a soft smile on his face. There was also a white bandage strip across his nose, and some purple swellings. Good, I hope I broke it.

"Good, you're awake," he said gently. "You were beginning to worry me, there."

He sat down beside me, and I realized I was in a strange bed, in some sort of single-room cabin—and that my wrists and ankles were duct-taped together.

"What the fuck,Zachary?" My head was throbbing and my vision a bit blurry, but I shoved my bound hands into the mattress and struggled to push up, to get away from him. "You kidnapped me!"

"Shh, shh…" He grabbed my shoulder with a wiry strength in his bony fingers, slowly but forcefully pushing me back down. "You need to relax. You're in shock, and it looks like you might even have Stockholm syndrome, so there's going to be a bit of an adjustment period."

"Stockholm syndrome, what the fuck?"

"That biker kept you prisoner for so long, he's not your friend Peyton. I'm here to help you."

His voice had that weird, slow cadence that people use when trying to reason with someone who they think is being delusional. But there was only one delusional person in this damn room, and it wasn't me. I was dizzy, but I kept struggling against him until I saw his other hand reach out to pat at a rag on the bedside table. Which was near a gun.

"I don't want to sedate you again, but if you can't behave, I'll do whatever I need to keep you from hurting yourself."

"Jesus Christ," I whispered, immediately stilling. The man was legitimately insane.

"There we go, that's better." He stood and headed across the room, unfortunately taking both the gun and the soaked rag with him.

So I closed my eyes to try and still the roiling within me, and took stock of how I felt. My primary concern was my baby, and how chloroform—or whatever the fuck he'd used—might affect the growing little one inside me. But of course, I didn't mention that to Zachary. Who knew what the fucking psycho would do if he found out I was pregnant with Rocky's child? Probably coat-hanger me right then and there.

I shuddered at the thought.

"I'm making chicken for dinner," he said happily. I opened my eyes to watch as he put the weapon down the front of his jeans, hooked against his belt, and couldn't help but hope he accidentally shot his own dick off. "I know it's late, we won't normally be eating after sundown, don't worry." He pulled out a cutting board and started chopping vegetables. "But since it's our first night together, I wanted to wait for you to wake up so we could eat at the same time."

My heart drummed an uneven rhythm against my ribs.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Slowly, so he wouldn't be alarmed and come running back over with that drugged rag, I sat up and leaned my back against the wall, trying to get my bearings. "Are you…seriously expecting me to just casually accept this?" A quick glance out the window showed me mostly darkness, but it seemed like there were a bunch of trees out there. "Become your little wifey out here in the woods, wherever we are?"

His head tilted to the side as he chopped, and he paused and turned to look at me. "You did for Samuel."

"Who the fuck?"

His brows scrunched for a second, and then his face relaxed and he let out a chuckle, turning back to his chopping. "See? You couldn't possibly like him, you don't even know his name."

A splash of shock sliced through me. Oh fuck, Rocky's first name was Samuel? I claimed, even if only inside my own head, to love him, but I didn't even know his first name.

I let out an incredulous huff. Maybe I was just as delusional as Zachary.

"That was different," I said, deciding to keep him talking and hopefully distracted while I tried to figure my shit out. My head was still throbbing, but the dizziness had subsided, and the world didn't look fuzzy and out of focus around me anymore. I scooted towards the end of the bed, struggling a little with my still-bound limbs. "I went to Rocky for protection against the man who sent me threatening messages after my roommate was murdered." I squinted at his slim back as he continued to chop. "For protection against you, right?"

He sighed, and his shoulders sank. "It was a mistake, one I'm not proud of."

"What, killing Chloe?"

He whipped around again, knife still in his hand. "No, I would never. I'd never harm a friend of yours, not unless they were a danger to you!" I felt my jaw slacken as I stared at him, and I sat at the edge of the bed. "I sent that message to show you that you were in danger. I wanted you to realize how much you needed me around to keep you safe from people like Lukacik."

"W-what?" The word slipped out of me in surprise. "Is that the killer's name? How would you even know—"

"I was watching that night, looking out for you." He stepped away from the kitchen, waving the knife in a gesture as if waving away a fly. "I've been looking out for you for a while, you think I wouldn't find out everything I could about the people around you? This world is full of sickos and dangerous people, you'd be shocked."

Oh, I was shocked alright…

He took another few steps towards me. "I got back to your apartment only a little before you that night, and I saw he was there, but I knew you were still having a snack across the road at the 7-Eleven, and you were safe, so it was okay. By the time you went up, he'd already left."

My blood turned to ice and my voice wouldn't come out properly. "How long have you been stalking me?"

"Protecting you, Peyton. I only sent that message when I saw you run out to your car all alone, in the middle of the night, without anyone there to protect you. I'm sorry I frightened you." He was almost all the way across the room towards me now, and the only escape he wasn't blocking was the window behind me, which I didn't think I could manage with my feet still tightly taped. "You needed to understand how dangerous the world is, that you couldn't afford to stay in that apartment any longer. It was time for you to come and stay with me, where you'd be safe. Where I could protect you from all the evil in this world. But you went where I couldn't properly follow. You went and found yourself a man with a gun."

He stopped barely a few paces away from me, and somehow, after everything, that was the moment I was the most afraid of him. He stared at me with this wild, insane glint in his eyes, and a cold shiver raced down my spine. I barely dared to move.

And then he smiled and patted the gun at his belt. "Well, now I'm a man with a gun, too."

My eyes immediately locked down on the gun, and I wondered briefly if I could grab it in time and shoot him, before he sliced me with that huge kitchen knife.

"I just have one question for you." He suddenly crouched down before me, bringing himself to my eye level and completely tucking that gun out of my reach. "You had a chance to get away from Samuel, when I talked to you at the police station." His head tilted again. "Why didn't you come to me?

"Why on earth would I go to you?" It was actually scary, how delusional he was. "I don't know you, and you thought after someone murdered my roommate, I'd agree to stay with a man I met one time?"

He sighed. "It wasn't just the once, you don't even remember me from college, do you? I got your laptop and phone to sync. You didn't give me a chance."

"I don't owe you a chance. Are you serious?" I suddenly realized that I had met him earlier, a few months back. Though nothing about him stuck in my mind. I'd gone to the college IT department after having a problem accessing my files remotely. My stomach lurched—had he put some tracking software on my phone? Was this how he knew where to find me?

He reached out and stroked my cheek with the hand that still held the knife, using his thumb to pass over my skin while the cool metal blade hovered less than an inch away from me.

I flinched away, and a hurt look crossed his eyes, followed by a flash of anger. "Aren't I good enough to touch you? After everything I've done for you, Peyton?

"The knife," I said quickly, feeling my heartrate increase with the sharp edge so close to my throat, and that fucked up glint in his eye. "I…got scared of the knife."

"Oh, sorry." His expression immediately melted back into his delusional earnestness, and he flung the knife over his shoulder like it was a used napkin, letting it clatter wherever it wanted on the floor. "My bad."

Who just throws a fucking knife over their shoulder? His unpredictability set me even more on edge.

"Anyway, you're probably hungry." He grinned, broad and happy, and stood back up. "I'll get back to making dinner, you've had a long day."

No thanks to you, you fucking lunatic. But I just pressed my lips together and stayed quiet as he crossed back to the kitchen.

While he busied himself with cooking, humming cheerfully, I looked more closely at my surroundings. Wherever we were, the place was small, no bigger than a shack, with a basic kitchen right in front of me, a living room that held a bed in the corner I was in, and a fireplace opposite. There was one door off to the side that I guessed was a bathroom, and the entrance, which was near the kitchen.

There were two windows, one by the bed I was on and the other near the front door, which appeared to be the only way in or out of the place. I looked down at my duct-taped ankles, testing the strength of it. But he'd wrappeda lot around me, and I didn't think I'd be able to get it off on my own. Not without making a lot of noise and taking a long ass time. And when these came off, I didn't want him to know. I planned to throw myself out the window and run until my legs wouldn't move any more.

My eyes traced to where the kitchen knife he'd thrown lay under the small table in the living area, halfway between him, and where I sat.

"I'm making chicken pesto," he said suddenly, and I startled, but his eyes remained focused on his task as he'd pulled out another knife. "It's your favorite, right?"

"You tell me, since you're the expert," I muttered, standing shakily and trying to tiptoe forward, which was fucking hard with my ankles so tightly bound.

"It won't kill you to get to know me, Peyton."

"You stalked me, kidnapped me, and drugged me, and now you want me to act like we're two people just getting to know each other? Right."

"I saved you from that biker, you could at least be grateful."

But maybe talking about himself would keep his focus anywhere but on me. I continued to awkwardly ballerina towards the table as quietly as possible. "Fine. Why don't you tell me a little about yourself, then?"

But another wave of dizziness hit me then, completely fucking with my balance, and I went crashing down. Zachary immediately dropped what he was doing and came rushing towards me.

"I'm sorry," I said, trying to give him big, innocent eyes. "I fell off the bed, I must…still be exhausted from my crazy day, huh?"

He helped me back on the bed, notably notremoving my bonds, and as he wandered off back to the kitchen, I contemplated round two of ‘Fetch the Knife'.

Maybe if I lowered myself to the ground and butt-scooted forward, I'd have a better shot…