Page 39 of Savage Protector

“I’m going out.”

“No. You are not. One hour, Leila.” The phone goes dead.

Who the hell does he think he is?

I stomp about the room, chucking my remaining possessions into a box. I’m moving out, and that’s that. I’m grateful for all he did when I needed it. Ethan, too. But I’ve stood on my own two feet for two years now and I don’t intend to stop anytime soon, whatever Zayn Abbassi might think.

I glance at the clock on the wall. It’s been half an hour since he hung up on me. I have maybe ten minutes before I need to be out of here. There’s a bus due, I can be halfway to Glasgow by the time he arrives and discovers I’m gone.

No such luck.Zayn gets to Buchanan bus station in the centre of Glasgow before I do. Arms folded and a face like thunder, he’s waiting for the bus from Stirling to get in. He glowers at me when he takes me by the arm and marches me towards the exit.

“What do you think you’re doing?” I protest, trying without success to break free.

“We need a chat,” he growls.

“I doubt that. Let me go or…or I’ll scream.” There’s a police officer by the main exit. I could just?—

“Don’t even think about it,” he mutters.

For reasons I don’t entirely understand, my mouth remains shut as he hustles me past and out onto Killermont Street. We cross the road, and he leads me into a rather nice little coffee shop. I’ve seen the place before, many times, but their prices don’t cater for student budgets.

“Sit over there. And don’t move.” He points to a table in the far corner while he heads for the counter to give the barista our order. He joins me a few minutes later with two frothy lattes. “I didn’t know if you take sugar.” He tosses a handful of sachets onto the table.

I ignore the drink and the sugar. “I should be at a lecture,” I lie.

“Not today. It’s Thursday. Independent study all morning.”

“What the…? How do you know that?”

“I make it my business to know your routine. How else can I keep you safe?”

I don’t believe this. He’s been spying on me! That’s it, I’m done. I try to rise. “I’m leaving.”

“Sit. Down.” His eyes are like flints. “Drink your coffee and tell me what the fuck this is about.”

I sit in sullen silence for several minutes.

“Well? I’m waiting.”

“Don’t let me keep you. You must have better things to do.”

“Not especially. So?”

“So what?”

“I have all day, in fact. Whereas you, youaredue in a lecture at two o’clock. It wouldn’t do to upset Professor Evans again by being late.”

I don’t even ask. Someone on my course must be feeding him information about my life. I should have realised.

So much for my own two feet.

He leans back in his seat, his arms crossed, as casual as you like. “So, now we have all that out of the way, what is it I don’t know?”

“Not much, I imagine.”

I grumble the words under my breath, but he hears. The bastard hears, and he smirks.

“Leila, I can be patient, and I’m in no rush. But we do both have better things to be doing, so shall we not mess about?”

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