Protect Her

by Chloe Fischer

  And so, he stood and watched.

  The crowds were thick. Hundreds of people of all ages, races and creeds had turned out to see Beatrice. They pushed, shoved and yelled, with little regard for common decency and those around them. As far as security went, this was a nightmare situation.

  Dallas was resigned to placing himself deep in the crowd, in a position where he could both watch the people scream, while keeping an eye on Beatrice as she walked. But even as his eyes followed her, his body was forced to remain stationary and it was because of this that Dallas knew just how open to attack she was. And although Dallas had tried to warn her of this, it fell on deaf ears. She just didn't believe in her own invincibility.

  The best Dallas could hope for was to catch the person before he even attempted to commit the deed. It wasn't an easy thing to do either, as the scene was a hot bed of raw excitement. But Dallas was a professional and trained for that exact scenario. So, as she walked, his eyes scanned the masses.

  After half an hour of doing this, Dallas felt his resilience waning. Everyone there seemed genuinely ecstatic to see Beatrice. There wasn't a single solemn face, or a single person who wasn't bursting with joy. Maybe Beatrice was right and --

  And then Dallas saw him.

  Standing about fifteen feet from where Dallas stood, he was the only person in the crowd who wasn't screaming. He was the only one who wasn't reaching out, as if trying to touch Beatrice.

  The man was older than most too, in his fifties, and simply stood and stared at Beatrice with cold hate in his eyes.

  Beatrice was roughly twenty feet in front of this man, cut off by about five rows of people and a barricade. She was seemingly safe from his reach, but that could change in a moment. And indeed, as Dallas took in the situation, calculating just what the man might be capable of, the guy began to move.

  Dallas watched as the man began to push himself through the crowd, shoving aside the screaming women and men. Four rows back, then three. He made his way closer and closer, his cold stare never once leaving Beatrice.

  Dallas didn't wait.

  A few rows back, Dallas was quick to maneuver through the crowd. Thanks in part to his size, he was able to easily shove the masses aside; much faster than the man was able to anyway. But as he did, he kept his eye on the man who was slowly getting closer and closer to the exposed Beatrice. Two rows. Now one.

  The man reached the barricade and, without hesitation, leapt it with ease. The moment he was over the barrier, he pulled a large knife from his pants and charged Beatrice.

  Dallas moved as fast as he could, yelling into his comm piece for the rest of his team, trying to identify the guy to them. Beatrice was so lost in the moment, and the scene was so drowned out with the noise of screaming fans that she didn't even notice the guy wielding the knife until he was almost right on her, knife coming at her throat.

  Seeing him, finally, Beatrice screamed. She leapt back and tripped on her heels. She threw her hand over her face, as if to protect herself. The man lunged, driving the knife toward her face.

  But Dallas was too quick.

  He speared himself into the man's back, wrapping his hands around the assailant and dragging him to the ground. As the two tumbled, the knife fell to the ground and Dallas easily overpowered him.

  The man spat and swore in a language that Dallas didn't recognize. The crowd screamed its admiration at such a daring act. And Beatrice watched, stunned by what she had just seen.

  Dallas had just saved her life.

  --

  "I can't... I can't... I don't..." Beatrice was still in shock. After the foiled attack, Dallas was quick to whisk her away from the crowd and into the back of the limousine. They were now on their way back to her hotel, as she struggled to comprehend what had just happened.

  "It's OK," Dallas said. He sat beside her, trying to calm her. "We're on the way back to your hotel. You're perfectly safe now."

  "I still can't believe it," she finally managed. "I never dreamed that... I just didn't think that..."

  "Maybe now you'll start taking threats a little more seriously," Dallas couldn’t stop himself from saying. He was having a hard time being soothing, he carried little sympathy for the woman.

  "I will. I mean... I just didn't... how did you know?" she asked. As she did she looked up at him with those big blue eyes. They were warmer than they had been that same morning, as if they were seeing him for the first time. "How did you see him? He came from nowhere."

  "It's my job," Dallas said simply, offering her a tight smile.

  "I know but... and after I told you that you were being silly."

  "Don’t worry about it. Really," he continued.

  "You saved my life..." It was subtle, but Dallas could sense a definite change in the atmosphere in the back of the limousine. She placed her hand on his thigh, giving it a gentle squeeze.

  "It's just my job," Dallas said stiffly.

  As he spoke he slowly pulled her hand away from his leg. Dallas knew what was coming. Saving someone's life tended to have a dramatic effect on that person. It put them in a situation where not only did they feel vulnerable, but they felt a kind of infatuation to the person who had saved them.

  "Seriously..." Her voice was throaty and soft. If there was any doubt as to her intentions, it was dashed the moment he made eye contact with the young, very attractive aristocrat.

  Her long stare spoke of hunger, an invitation. She took him in, eating him up and devouring him. If Dallas had been so inclined he could have easily moved on her, taken her there and then and fulfilled the fantasy of thousands of young men across the world.

  But he didn't. And as she shuffled in a little closer, leaning on him, he pushed her away. "No." he said simply.

  "But... why?" she asked, taken aback. It was possible that Dallas was the first man to ever say no to Beatrice.

  "I just... no," and that was that. He turned back and looked out the window, determined to emphasize that what she had on her mind, wasn't going to happen.

  It wasn't personal either, or professional for that matter. The reason that Dallas turned down the beautiful socialite was far graver in nature than a simple matter of dislike or professional pride. It was because of a broken heart that hadn't finished mending yet. It was on account of a deep wound that refused to heal. One that he knew would only hurt him more in the long run.

  Dallas wasn't ready to be hurt. Not again. Not like last time.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The inside of Dallas' apartment was typical of most men with a military background. It was sparsely decorated to the point of being utilitarian, and tidy to the point of obsession. A small, studio apartment, it harbored a bed for sleeping, a couch for sitting, a TV for the occasional watching and a single chair with a small lamp next to it for reading. There was zero flair decorating the walls, every surface was clean and bare and even the tiles in the bathroom sparkled as if they had never been used.

  As Dallas entered his small, bare apartment that night, he went about his usual routine. It started with a drink of milk – from a tall glass which he cleaned the moment he was done. He then sat down at the kitchen bench, pulled out his laptop and filled out the contract from the day's work. It took him exactly fifteen minutes to do, as it always did. Once that was done, it was dinner time.

  Dinner was a simple meal, as always, of boiled potatoes, baked chicken breast and frozen broccoli packaged in a cheese sauce. He had just started chopping up the potatoes when he felt his phone vibrate. Putting the knife back on the rack – where it always went – he reached into his pocket and pulled the phone out.

  It was his best friend, Mark, calling him. Smiling to himself, Dallas answered.

  "Officer Austin," he said.

  "Where have you been?" Mark demanded into the phone. His voice sounded rushed and panicked, as if he had been running. "I've been calling you all day."

  "I was working. Beatrice of Estria, remember?" Dallas answered. "Why...What's wrong?"

 
; "Are you home?"

  "Of course --"

  Knock, knock!

  The sound of someone hammering on the door pulled Dallas from the call. He looked back at his phone, to see that Mark had hung up. Sighing, Dallas put the phone down and walked towards the door to answer, knowing full well who was going to be on the other side.

  "What took you," Mark exclaimed as Dallas opened the door. Without waiting for an answer or invitation, he pushed Dallas to the side and stormed into the apartment.

  "Come in..." Dallas responded. Going to close the door behind his friend, he found himself unable, as if something were blocking it. Looking around the door, Dallas was surprised to see that his friend hadn't come alone – Cleo stood in the doorway, her foot causing the obstruction.

  Hesitantly, glancing up from under her eyelids, she nervously made a move to step into the room. Dallas was confused. He hadn’t seen Mark’s little sister in a couple of years. He knew that brother and sister were very close, but Mark had never brought his sister to Dallas’ apartment in the past. And it couldn’t be a social call, as Mark had never deigned to socialize with his baby sister. He loved her more than any other person living, but he saw her as a child. Mark had never realized that his little sister had grown up – he still treated her like she was twelve. The moment the door was fully open, Cleo skulked into the apartment, not so much as paying Dallas a glance.

  "Cleo," he said, watching her as she entered,

  "Well this is lovely," Cleo said, false bravado filling her voice. "Nothing says welcome home like blank walls and... and a delicious meal of plain potato for dinner. Yummy." She commented as she glanced into the attached kitchen area.

  "Don't be rude," Mark chastised. He was storming back and forth across the apartment. Due to his size, similar to that of Dallas, it only took him a few short strides to cover the distance too. "The least you can do is say thank you."

  "Thank you? For what?" Cleo exclaimed. She fell onto Mark's couch as she did, kicking her feet up. "I told you, you're being ridiculous. Seriously, if you let me handle this, the whole thing would be over by --"

  "Ridiculous? Is that what you call that crack-dealer friend of yours -- don't even think about lying to me too. I know who he is. Well, was, anyway. I've worked homicide for ten years and I've never --"

  "Hey," Dallas yelled over the bickering of the two. "As great as it is to see you, Mark... and you too Cleo, can someone tell me what is going on?"

  Dallas had known Mark for the better part of fifteen years. In high school the two were near inseparable, both harboring similar dreams for when they graduated -- to protect and serve the nation. But where Dallas went the route of the armed services, Mark took a more local path and became a cop.

  As for Cleo, Dallas knew her reasonably well, as any friend knows the sister of his best friend. Physically she hadn’t changed much since the last time he’d seen her. She was still stunningly beautiful. If anything, her curves and body were even more sleek, all signs of early adulthood gone and pure woman in her place. But in terms of attitude and general demeanor? Well that seemed to be on par with where it had been when she was a teenager. Entitled and bitchy with a big old chip on her shoulder. Always acting like she had something to prove. Dallas had always figured she was trying to show her brother that she was grown up, and when he wouldn’t see it, and accept her as an equal, she became even more sullen, trying to prove to the world that she didn’t care.

  "What – oh right, sorry," Mark said. Calming down slightly, Mark stopped his pacing, turning to face his best friend. "It's Cleo. She's in trouble."

  "I'm really not," Cleo insisted.

  "Be quiet," Mark growled at her. Dallas could see his best friend doing all he could to control himself.

  "She is. Even if she won't admit it."

  "OK, OK." Dallas said, trying his best to defuse the tension between the two.

  Mark finally started his explanation. "I was working a case yesterday. Disgusting scene, this dealer on the other side of town was literally gutted," he began. "That's all well and good -- albeit a little gruesome. But then Brian, a beat cop that I know, said he saw Cleo and this kid together not three days ago. So I did some looking into it and --"

  "I told you. If you let me --", Cleo tried to interject.

  "Will you shut up?!" Mark yelled, now well and truly losing his temper. "Anyways, I did some digging and this kid was killed by Drax – a dealer on the east side. Thinks of himself as the kingpin of the east side too. He's a real psychopath, a dangerous one. And, for some reason, he seems to think that Stan and Cleo were involved in some way,” he glanced accusingly at Cleo, “he thinks she has something of his.”

  "Involved?" Dallas asked, confused. He didn't know Cleo that well, but he would have been surprised to find that she had fallen onto the wrong side of the law. Sure, she was arrogant, but she wasn't a criminal.

  "I don't know to what extent... and Cleo here is insisting that she doesn't know --"

  "That's because I don't."

  "But that doesn't matter. What does matter is Drax now wants Cleo dead. Like, dead, dead. I know this guy, I know his people. He won't stop until he sorts her out. And... and..."

  "OK, OK," Dallas said, walking up to his friend and patting him on the back. "It's fine. I'll find this guy and --"

  "No!" Mark exclaimed. "I mean... look, this dude, he’s really dangerous, and I need….." he paused, having difficulty getting it out.

  "Then what do you want?" Dallas asked, more confused now. As he heard the story unfold he was sure that Mark was going to ask him to do what Mark, a cop, couldn't – track down Drax and take care of him.

  "I want you to take care of Cleo for me. I know you're probably busy... but this is in your wheelhouse and I didn't know who else to ask. And, I trust you to protect her….you're good at this kind of thing and if anyone can watch Cleo and make sure she doesn't... that..."

  "Yeah, sure. I mean of course I will," Dallas agreed. He had never seen Mark so scared before. A fact that only served to highlight just how serious the situation actually was, even if Cleo wasn't willing to admit it. "But for how long? What are you going to do?"

  "I'm going to find out what’s going on," Mark explained. "We’ve already got guys watching him – that’s part of the reason that I’d rather you watch Cleo. It would be hard for anyone to get to Drax right now without being seen. And I know I won’t worry about her if she’s with you. It should only take a day or two. But if I can clear this up, then... then I can go back to breathing. You know?" Dallas had never had any siblings, so he couldn't empathize fully with Mark's plight. But he knew how much Mark loved his sister, and because of that, Dallas would do anything and everything he could to help.

  "Yeah, of course." Dallas said. As he did he glanced at Cleo who made sure that he saw her roll her eyes. "For as long as you need."

  "Thanks so much," Mark said, letting out a long sigh. "Seriously, a day. Maybe two." Without another word he turned and stormed towards the door.

  "Where are you going?" Cleo asked, jumping up from the couch.

  "Where do you think?" Mark answered angrily. "I'm going to go and sort out whatever it is you got --"

  "I told you. It's all a misunderstanding. If you just --"

  "I don't want to hear it! You're going to stay here and do exactly what Dallas says. Exactly. I'll be back in a few days. And Dallas, thanks again." He reached the door, threw it open and stormed out.

  A very succinct silence followed Mark’s exit. Dallas closed the door behind his friend, very aware of the way that Cleo was watching him. With the exception of that attitude of hers, Dallas had to admit that she had become hot since he’d seen her last. Her long hair framed an exquisite face with perfect bone structure, and the rounded curve of her backside practically begged for a spanking. If it wasn't for the fact that she was his best friend's little sister, Dallas would have taken this opportunity to... Damn! He needed to take his cock out of this equation and keep his thoughts on track.


  "So..." Dallas began as he closed the door and turned back to face Cleo. She was still standing, arms crossed as she watched Dallas. She wore a look of contempt on her face, as if she had zero respect for him.

  "So," she said in reply. "What now? Marshmallows and campfire stories?"

  "I was thinking we'd eat," Dallas said. He made his way back toward the kitchen where the unchopped potatoes still sat.

  "Good idea. You eat and I'll go." Without another word, she went straight for the door.

  It had been clear from the moment she arrived that she thought this whole thing was unnecessary and beneath her. She viewed Dallas as some form of babysitter that she could easily outsmart and overpower. But that was about to change.

  Before she so much as got within reaching distance of the door, Dallas was on her. He grabbed her by the waist, lifted her into the air and launched her back onto the couch.

  "What the hell are you doing?!" she screamed as she flew into the cushions.

  "Stopping you from leaving," Dallas said simply.

  "And breaking my neck while you're at it? If Mark heard that you did that --"

  "He'd probably say I should just tie you up and save myself the hassle. Look, I know you think this is a joke. But Mark clearly doesn't. So, I'm going to assume it isn't either. This means that I will do whatever I have to, to keep you here. Understand?" As he spoke, he stood over her, towering above her like the mountain that he was.

  "Ok, Ok," Cleo relented, taking Dallas in. It was evident that she wasn't going to be overpowering him any time soon. Her eyes traveled slowly from the top his face, down the length of his body. "So, what then?"