The Protection

Seventeen

The rest of the week went by quickly. I turned in all my Organic Chemistry homework, focused at practice, and didn't see the Protector again. I was more than a little miffed and beyond curious where he had gone. I kept replaying his parting words in my head: We'll talk soon. When was soon?! Was "Protector" time different? What if he had something else, something more important, come up and had forgotten his promise to me? I grew more and more impatient with each passing day. I checked my cell phone frequently to see if I had a missed call, unsure if they even made phone calls, looked out the window of my apartment, and searched for him as I left each one of my classes. But still nothing. Not a peep until I saw a sleek, black truck parked outside of my volleyball practice that Friday. The windows were tinted too dark to see inside, but I still knew it was him. Everything about the truck was new and shiny, but also more than a little over the top. Just like him. My heart leapt at the sight of it.

I glanced nervously around the parking lot. Aside from me and a glossy black crow who was munching on an abandoned french fry, the parking lot was deserted. I had been the last one to leave the locker room tonight, taking more swings to prepare for our next looming athletic challenge. My teammates had undoubtedly already left to get ready for whatever Bible study the night had in store. All aside from Beth who was going out with a country music singer that was in town for the night.

I opened the heavy door and climbed into the passenger seat feeling the buttery black leather beneath my bare legs. Brown Eyes had a bad habit of coming around when I had on my shortest of spandex shorts. Maybe that was all a part of his master plan, seeing me when I was most exposed. He smiled at me without restraint, his dimples winking deliciously at me, as I buckled my seatbelt. I tried my best to hide my own flustered smile as I took him in. He looked beyond incredible with a black t-shirt, dark jeans, and cowboy boots. A pair of black aviator sunglasses hid his beautiful eyes but complimented his chiseled face.

"Don't you know you shouldn't climb into cars with strangers?" he teased, raising an eyebrow as he pulled the car out of the parking lot. I ignored him, watching the trees fly by. We quickly entered the freeway. He was so at ease, driving in and out of the chaotic Dallas traffic with one hand on the steering wheel while the other rested in his lap. I wondered if he had some sort of special power that made him this good of a driver.

"Where are we going?" I asked.

"My place. You've been there before," he said matter-of-factly, changing lanes. I kept my eyes glued to the window, vaguely recognizing the landscape. The luxurious high rises began to give way to smaller local businesses and restaurants and the traffic began to dwindle. The place I had spent the night after the attack in the alley had been close to campus, a short ride.

"I don't think I've been wherever you're taking me," I argued, suddenly aware of the fact I could have made a huge mistake. He could've been a serial killer this entire time. He had never shown me proof he was a Protector. Did they carry a badge or any form of ID?! I tried to think back to my limited research, slowly placing a hand on the door handle.

"Relax," he said, and oddly I did, removing my hand. "We were here the night after your incident on campus." I rubbed my bare legs to alleviate the goosebumps that popped up by the mention of what had almost happened. What would have happened had this man not saved me.

"What happened to Peter?" I asked quietly. Brown Eyes exited the freeway at an alarming speed, and I clutched the door handle again.

"He went where they all go: The Compound for behavioral therapy." His voice was strained as if he was trying to hold back a wave of rage. I wanted to push further, to ask him what the hell The Compound was, and what behavioral therapy they could provide to a would be rapist, but I restrained myself. If the tightness in his jaw was any indication, Kyler was already barely controlling his anger at my painful memory.