My Name is Ranel [Short Story] ✅

Part 7

A/N

Last one. Shorter than most, but uh ... enjoy c':

Perhaps going to London is too soon for me.

It hadn't exactly been pleasing to walk out of the airport and being assaulted afterwards by the same people who were tracking me back in the States. They must have memorised every inch of my face to send a bullet in my direction at a distance. Colton was the one who saw it first; he'd shoved me aside and sidestepped his imminent death at the report of the rifle, propelling everyone into full-on tumult while doing so. We didn't run away when we were chased; we charged towards wherever the gunshot set off, causing them to flee. I can still remember Colton's vehemence of reaction; alarm and ire blended together, and the latter dominating his entire face. I had never seen him so livid.

We were lucky enough that there were only two of them. Colton might be in his vacation, but he had a sidearm ready with him; he'd drawn it from his rucksack and shot them in the legs – both of them. In my haste, I'd fiddled with my phone and dialled Keane's number whilst silently thanking myself for asking for her phone number through our e-mail conversation while she was in the country. "YOU KNOW THE AIRPORT IS STILL RISKY FOR YOU, RIGHT?" she'd yelled on the line, followed by a number of obscenities – I probably deserved them.

Apparently, those two tyrants were her case.

According to her, Jerome had sent her to capture them after the disarray right before we left the States due to fear of exposure as well as my safety. Linking those two problems together will certainly lead to the institute being at stake, and I honestly don't want that, especially not when it all narrows down to what I did. My blunder and liability. The question as to how they found out where I landed lingers as a mystery until now, and I'm settling into it being coincidental.

At first, I insisted on my own assistance – without judiciously weighing up the upshots, as if I'm downright nonsensical. Of course, Keane declined. "I thought you're smarter than this," she'd pointed out as soon as she arrived at the scene (Colton and I had knocked them out cold and had them cuffed – Thanks to the securities.) earning a vehement nod of assent from Colton. She took it from there, then. She didn't forget to thank us – especially me – for showing up at the airport and nearly got shot, otherwise she would never have found them, not anywhere in Manchester nor in Scotland.

Colton and I have been here in London for a couple of days already, where Keane assures me everything is under control and all I have to do is stay vigilant, yet he still refuses to let me out of his sight whenever we leave our hotel – even if it is just a stroll down in the lobby. His eyes would wander around, scrutinising everyone's motions, and he would glower at people if they have their eyes trained on me – most of whom are girls anyway, and they don't even fall into the 'dubious' category. Not to me, at least.

Clearly, Colton is either being possessive or wary.

Just yesterday, the cashier girl in her early twenties was flirting with me at the convenience store while I was purchasing some refreshments; twirling her auburn corkscrew locks around her forefinger and batting her eyelashes whilst flashing me straight white teeth. "You seeing anyone?" she'd asked in plain Posh. I didn't get to answer, for I'd been caught off guard when Colton appeared between us – thus blocking her from sight – tugged me down by grabbing me by the scruff of my neck and kissed me hard on the mouth. The picture of her stupefied face is still embedded in my brain.

Either possessive or wary.

Probably both, now that I think of it.

He still wouldn't let me leave our hotel room alone. He refuses to lend me his sidearm as well – which is what we're currently quarrelling on. "I'm older than you, so you follow what I say, Fleming," he says, putting on his flat-yet-peremptory voice that usually has its effects on everyone, his eyes flashing with authority.