7. Seven Kaleb
Seven: Kaleb
B rent was an idiot for inviting Freya along with us. The shooting range wasn't the place for people like her.
Innocent.
Guiltless.
Good.
She’d been way out of her depth last night, too, and the memory of Maggie drugging her made my jaw twitch. Maggie was a psychotic wench, but I never put her down as the type of person to do that to somebody. She'd crossed every boundary. Every line.
Her face was a picture when I’d shown up at her house and threatened her, her tanned skin paling and her bottom lip trembling slightly before she plastered a scowl onto her face. She’d shouted her usual profanities at me, but I paid it no mind. I wanted to get my point across, and I definitely had.
“Next time, leave Freya out of this,” I muttered to Brent as he took another shot, cursing to himself when he missed the target completely, turning to me with a glare.
“She was fine. Nobody’s going to get hurt.”
I wasn’t so sure of that.
“When is she moving out anyway?” Brent questioned, taking a sip of the beer that the female bartender had brought over. She had a soft spot for my friend, and although she’d tried chatting me up more than once, my chilly reception meant she’d laid off.
I shrugged. “Soon. Hopefully.”
Freya was getting in the way, and even though the way she had marched right downstairs after Maggie had called her boring made me smirk, I knew she wasn’t as invincible as she believed.
Brent was determined for her to come today. I knew why, but I still didn’t like it. It wasn’t right.
I scanned the area for what felt like the hundredth time this afternoon, meeting the eyes of a few beefy men who couldn’t shoot for shit. It made me laugh.
Because of our jobs, we were often put in dangerous situations, which immediately made our families targets. I spent as little time down here as possible for that reason—just in case anybody was keeping tabs on me—but this was unavoidable.
Freya didn’t belong in this world, and we needed to remember that.