Page 67 of Save Her from Me

It brought a memory of fear. Of someone overstepping the line so badly it broke my bubble of childhood safety. That had been pretty weak anyway. My father moved in circles where people were killed and women routinely misused. But I’d been more or less safe until the point Larson had decided otherwise.

My happy start to the day dissolved.

We arrived at the hangar, Jackson driving into the structure itself so I could climb out unseen. While he took his car back out, I journeyed through from the open front where the helicopters came and went to the offices built as a block under the domed roof.

As at the castle, familiar faces were everywhere.

Voices called out greetings. Besides those I’d become related to, there were people who flew with my brother or had kids who trained with me on the slopes.

Valentine jogged over, his dark hair tied up in a man bun and grease on his face. “Where’s the almighty hero?”

I tilted my head. “You mean Jackson?”

“That’s the man. I’d forgotten his name since people started only talking about him with God-like reverence.”

From my other side, Jackson appeared, his mouth twisted in wry amusement and his expression patient. “Go on. Get it out of your system.”

I produced a smile. No act like his at the TV studio could go down without a healthy amount of piss-taking afterwards.

Valentine smirked. “The king called. You’ve been urgently reassigned to protect his crown jewels.”

Jackson sighed. “Any more?”

“Wait, Jamieson had one.”

I leaned into Jackson and whispered, “Who’s Jamieson?”

“He’s part of Leo’s pyrotechnics team. Professional fire starter.”

Valentine grinned bigger. “By all means shoot for the stars. Just aim at bodyguard Jackson first.”

We both groaned. Valentine led us around the back of the office to a mechanic’s desk.

He gestured to the setup on the table. “Am I doing this or are ye?”

Jackson regarded me.

“You do it,” I asked him.

Valentine nodded. “Wise woman. I’ve never tried this before. Probably would weld your arm to the bench or something.”

Jackson guided me to sit, readying the equipment on the table. “To be honest, neither have I. I only had the training demonstration to go on. It’s low risk, though. I wouldnae do it if I thought it could harm ye.”

“I trust you.”

He flashed me a small, somehow personal smile.

“Huh,” said Valentine in an interesting tone, stepping back. He leaned on the wall, ankles crossed, and his expression curious.

Jackson collected the bracelet box from his jacket, revealing the tracking jewellery. “First I need to measure it around your wrist. It’s too long, see. So I’ll cut it here and it’ll be loose enough so it doesn’t dig into your skin but also won’t be able to slip over your hand. Next, I’ll weld it shut.”

He put a pad against my wrist and, using tweezers, held the bracelet together, bringing a framed and tinted screen over my arm. Then he fired up a pen-like device.

“A pulse arc welder,” he explained. “Shut your eyes when I say as it’ll produce a burst of light.”

Jackson set the tip to the broken links and gave the word. I closed my eyes. The arc welder clicked, producing a bolt of light bright enough to see through my eyelids.

“All done,” he said.

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