24. Twenty-four Freya
Twenty-four: Freya
D efeated. There was no other word to describe how I felt.
Kaleb and I had waited around at the police station for almost two hours before Mr Walliams came to tell us that the call was untraceable. Kaleb, being Kaleb, had kicked up a fuss and demanded that they try again, but after an uncomfortable stare-off between the two men, I dragged him home.
I fiddled with my phone as I gawked absent-mindedly at the TV in front of me. Kaleb had thrown on some crappy late-night television, and he continuously snuck glances at me with perturbed brows.
I should've been on a high—because Kaleb and I had kissed. Instead, the fact that the police couldn't give a shit about my missing father was filling my head, snatching any joy away from me and directing my train of thought to a more pessimistic place.
I’d never seen him so worked up, though, and I mentally gave Hannah some props for knowing exactly how the grumpy bodyguard would react to my fake date. It was as if she had a microscope into his mind. Perhaps psychology in the male brain was actually her calling.
“Do you think my dad was calling from a burner phone?”
“It's hard to tell. They should have been able to pinpoint which radio tower he was connected to.” Kaleb swallowed, his own phone buzzing for what was probably the tenth or eleventh time in the past ten minutes. He was having an intense conversation with someone.
I inhaled deeply, pulling my knees to my chest and focusing back on the wall behind the TV, dragging my bottom lip into my mouth and biting it harshly. The taste of iron filled my mouth, but I revelled in it. The pungent flavour was distracting.
“Hello?” Kaleb said into his phone, his voice gravelly. The call lasted no more than fifteen seconds—with Kaleb not saying much—and I watched as he stood, running his hand through his hair.
“What is it?” I asked, pulling my blanket further up my body.
“It was my chief,” he muttered, his eyes hard. “The police need backup for a raid about thirty minutes from here.”
My breath hitched. All it would take was one bullet to lodge itself in the wrong part of his body, and he wouldn’t make it out of there alive, but I kept my face as neutral as I could. Worrying wasn’t going to stop him from getting hurt.
“My mom and Jackie should be back soon,” I said, attempting to swallow my anxiety, the feeling thick in my throat.
“Invite over your chirpy friend,” Kaleb instructed, nodding to my phone, and I scoffed.
“Hannah?”
“You’re not staying here alone, especially not like this.” His face softened as he gazed at my deflated form. “I'm texting Brent the login details for the cameras outside. He'll get a notification whenever it picks up movement.”
I kind of wanted to be alone, but I also knew that wouldn't help. Sitting by myself and sulking wasn't going to conjure up my dad beside me, and it wasn't going to convince the police to actually give a crap about the case, either.
“I'm not leaving until Hannah's here.” Kaleb looked at me expectedly, and I rolled my eyes, sending her a quick message.
“There. Happy?”
“Somewhat.” He smiled before disappearing upstairs.
Hannah made it over in record time, barrelling through the door with an armful of snacks, her mouth snapping shut once she noticed Kaleb descending the steps.
I’d never seen him in his raid uniform before—black combat boots like usual, dark cargo pants, and a matching top. Over the top was a bulky vest, the straps velcroed together tightly, his gun hanging from his waistband.
But, as sexy as he looked, he was also menacing.
“Please be careful,” I said, wrapping my arms around myself.
“I always am. Keep everything locked. Call Brent if you need anything. I asked him to leave the bar, so he's just around the corner if anything happens. Don't answer the door to anyone, and you have the app on your phone, so you’ll get a notification if the cameras detect someone outside.”
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Zach had been radio silent since Kaleb had broken his nose, and Will had no clue where I lived—not that he would come after me, anyway.
Our goodbye wasn't awkward, but it also wasn't not awkward. Hannah was mimicking a statue in the room's corner, trying not to make a noise, but I knew that even if Kaleb and I were alone, we wouldn’t know how to leave it.
Mere hours ago, I was moaning against his lips while his hard cock pressed against me, but that ballgame now felt worlds away.
My stomach dropped as I watched him leave. It wasn’t going to be the last time I saw him. He was going to come home in one piece. He was a trained shooter—a good one.
“Did you hear about Zach?” Hannah asked me with a mouthful of popcorn, causing me to turn to her with a frown as I stress ate myself through an entire box of red liquorice.
“No?”
“Apparently, he got kicked out of college.”
“Really? Why?”
Hannah shrugged. “Some illegal shit he’d done, but that's probably some rumour. I imagine his grades were slipping.”
I shook my head. “Surely that's not it? He went to every lecture and always got his work done on time.” In fact, one of our lecturers had a soft spot for Zach due to his talent in abstract painting. He was cocky, though, and it ruined a lot of his artwork. He rushed his pieces, fully believing that whatever he created was a stroke of brilliance, and so often wouldn't put the time and effort in. He had potential, but it seemed he hadn't lived up to it.
“Where’d you hear that?”
“Josh. He heard some guys talking about it. Let's hope it's true, so you'll never have to see his lame ass again. He could be a real weirdo when he wanted to be.”
I shivered. “Yeah, he could.”
The rest of the night ticked by painfully. I couldn't stop worrying about Kaleb, and I found myself glancing at my phone every few minutes to see if he’d texted me.
How long did raids usually take?
Hannah had left shortly after my mother and Jackie had returned home from volunteering at the local care centre. It was Jackie's New Year's resolution—to help others more—and she wanted to get a head start, which, in my opinion, defeated the purpose of a New Year's resolution.
The house was so silent you could hear a pin drop. I was curled up in bed, shivering under the covers, unable to sleep—and not because my toes were so cold I was wondering if I was going to develop frostbite.
Kaleb had been gone too long, and my mind was running rampant, conjuring up gruesome images of him being shot at by conniving criminals, bleeding out on the floor with no one to help him.
I scowled up at the ceiling, counting sheep in my head, willing my body to let go and drift off.
Twenty-three sheep.
Twenty-four sheep.
Twenty-five sheep.
My eyes rounded as I heard the front door open, and I pushed myself out of bed and padded downstairs to see Kaleb's tall form moving through the doorway. It was pitch black, the only light source being the rays from the moon peeking through the sliver between the door and the wooden frame.
His forehead was slick with sweat, and he sighed heavily as he cursed under his breath, having not spotted me.
“Kaleb?” I muttered quietly. He flicked on the lamp beside him, his eyes raking over my red tank top and tartan pyjama bottoms. However, I couldn't avert my gaze from his forehead because it wasn't slick with sweat after all. It was blood.
“Did I wake you up?” he asked with concern, his eyes hazy.
I cupped his cheeks in panic, dragging his head down to me so I could look at the gash, blood still seeping out of it slowly. “What the hell happened?”
“It's fine. A guy got me with a knife.”
“A knife?” I questioned, my stomach twisting. “Come here.” I dragged him towards the bathroom, forcing him down on the closed toilet seat as he chuckled, pushing his hair away from his face.
“I'm fine, my little artist,” he said, folding his arms and leaning back, the sleeves of his top rolled up, revealing his inked arms.
My mouth popped open at the nickname.
My little artist.
Fuck.
“Don't, I'm fine, me,” I said, scowling, pointing at his head while I rummaged through the bathroom cabinet, yanking out wipes and gauze. “You got slashed in the face with a knife. You're not fine.”
Kaleb hummed, taking in my frantic form as I squeezed some antiseptic lotion onto a cotton ball. “I like you all worked up. Maybe I should get hurt more often.” He grinned.
“Quit getting on my nerves.”
“Why? It seems to be a particular talent of mine.”
Rolling my eyes, I dabbed at his wound, wiping away all the blood that was stuck to his forehead. Kaleb watched me the entire time with curious eyes, a chuckle escaping his lips as I forced my brows together in concentration.
I gulped, studying his chiselled jawline and plump lips, his five-o’clock shadow easier to see in the bathroom lighting. How could someone look so good even after being sliced in the face?
“You didn't clean this before you left?” I asked.
“I wiped it with my sleeve if that counts?”
“Not funny.” I glared at him for a split second before I pressed on the wound with a gauze, grabbing his hand to replace my own. “Keep pressure on it for a few minutes. Are you hurt anywhere else?”
He shook his head.
I picked at my cuticles. “Did anyone die tonight?”
“Three people. None of ours.”
“Who was being raided?” I scrubbed at the basin, Kaleb's droplets of blood staining it.
“A prostitution ring. It's a place the police and my organisation have had their eyes on for a few months now. The criminals were stupid, and they gave a lot away in a very short amount of time.”
I hummed. “So not like Will, then?”
“No.” Kaleb gritted his teeth. “Nothing like Will.”
Swatting his hand away, I nodded with satisfaction to see that his blood had begun to coagulate. “This might scar,” I told him, and he shrugged, unbothered by the prospect. He already had a few—not overly noticeable—but his line of work practically came with the promise of accumulating them.
“Thank you,” he said, glancing at himself in the mirror before his tired eyes settled on my form. His body towered over me, and he tucked a strand of my dark hair behind my ear, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down as he swallowed. “I need to take a shower, so unless you want to stay and watch, I suggest you take your pretty self up to bed.” A smile broke out on his face.
I shivered, my heart beating erratically against my ribcage, pausing for what felt like an eternity. The battle between the angel and devil inside my brain was heinous, and I clamped my eyes shut, trying to quieten the argument. “Don’t get soap in your wound,” I said, dipping out of the bathroom and exhaling loudly as I quietly padded up the stairs.
You fucking coward.
I groaned at myself, allowing my mind to fantasise about what would have happened if I had stayed.