12. Twelve Kaleb
Twelve: Kaleb
I t had been hours since Brent and I had found Zach in the house with Freya, and I was raging. I could still feel my fury flowing through my veins and seeping out of my pores, coating me and making my skin itch.
My gun hadn’t left my hands, and I squeezed the cool metal barrel, imagining myself firing a bullet straight through Zach’s cold heart. The world would be better off without him.
“Do you think she’s asleep?” Brent asked me from the other side of the couch, and I shrugged, keeping my gaze on the cream-coloured carpet.
I’d made Brent stay because I knew that if I was left alone, I was going to hunt Zach down and subject him to copious amounts of pain before burying him six feet under. It was what he deserved—he'd got off easy. A broken nose was nothing compared to what I wanted to do to him.
Freya had gone upstairs to shower, but we hadn’t heard her make a sound for hours. She needed the rest, so we tried to remain as quiet as we could downstairs.
I didn’t really have an opinion on whether or not Freya pressed charges because I knew what the system was like. There was a high chance that Zach wouldn’t be punished at all because of insufficient evidence or some similar crap, and that was the reason more people didn’t speak up about assaults and abuse. It was absolute bullshit. The system continued to fail people.
I was going to ensure that Zach went nowhere near Freya again, though. I’d called up one of the guys from the organisation and he’d sent me some information on him. It turned out he wasn’t so perfect after all and had been in trouble with the law for possession of Class B drugs and driving under the influence.
The most recent offence was four months ago, and I was going to make sure that the college knew about it—somehow, it had gone under the radar. I assumed it involved a bribe from Zach’s very wealthy father, but he wouldn’t be a student there much longer.
My head jerked up at the sound of shuffling, and Freya padded down the stairs. She didn’t look as disturbed as I thought she'd be—with her hair slicked back into a sleek ponytail and her face lightly dusted with makeup. Something in my gut twisted at the sight of her. She didn’t even need the makeup. She was naturally beautiful. Plump lips. A slender face with a pointed chin. A slight dotting of freckles over her nose. Eyes that spoke to me while her mouth said nothing at all. Fuck.
“Where are you going?” I asked, inhaling deeply. Why did she always have to smell like vanilla and cherries? It made it extremely hard to dislike being in her presence.
Freya sighed. “A party. I gathered it was better to go to that than lay in my bed feeling sorry for myself.”
“Is that really a good idea?” I stood up.
“I guess I won’t know until I get there.”
Alcohol and high emotions didn’t mix, and I wanted to tell Freya to stay home and watch a film with us instead, but I knew that wouldn’t go down well. She didn’t like being told what to do, and deep down, it was something that I liked about her.
“Is Zach going to be there?” Brent queried, looking unnerved.
My jaw twitched at the question, and Freya shrugged. “Probably not. He’s not friends with Josh, and I can’t imagine his face looks too pretty right now.”
I arched my brow. “Who’s Josh?” Brent chuckled softly from beside me.
“Hannah’s half fuck-buddy, half boyfriend. It’s his house.”
“Right,” I said. “We’ll come. I don’t trust Zach not to make a reappearance.”
Brent groaned from beside me, tilting his head back and cursing up at the ceiling. “I don’t want to go to a college party.”
I took in Freya’s perplexed expression, and she chewed on the inside of her cheek as she studied me. “You guys don’t have to come. I’m sure it’ll be fine.”
I grabbed my car keys from the hook, shrugging, gesturing towards the door, but Freya shook her head.
“You can't show up with that hanging from your waist.” She pointed at my gun I’d clipped back into its holster. “People will freak out.”
“Right.” I clicked my tongue, grabbing my leather jacket that hung over a dining room chair, the end of it just about hiding my weapon. “Let’s go.”
The journey didn't take long, although Freya had to direct me the entire way, and because she wasn’t the queen of instruction giving, we took more than a few wrong turns. I hoped it would give her enough time to change her mind, but she seemed set on attending the party, and I wasn’t about to argue with her.
“That looks feral,” Brent muttered in disgust as we approached the house. People practically spilt out of the windows, and the flashing lights inside were blinding. The music vibrated the road outside, and college students cheered and sang while they sloshed their overfilled cups around.
“Still time to back out?” I cocked my head at Freya, hoping that the carnage would be enough to deter her, but although I could tell she was slightly hesitant, she huffed and strolled into the house.
I gazed around the room with aversion, muttering a string of curse words as I scanned the large living area for any sign of Zach. Nope . No dickhead fuck-face with a bruised and swollen nose here. It didn’t mean he wasn’t upstairs or outside, though—the party appeared to stretch out into all areas of the house.
How many people were even here? Who had this many friends?
“How old is everyone?” I questioned out of curiosity, eyeing the empty bottles of beer and vodka scattered on the hardwood flooring.
“I don't know,” Freya said, shrugging. “But this isn’t the time to go all cop mode.”
I hummed. I was always in cop mode. Not that underage drinking bothered me. I had more important things to worry about.
Suddenly, a squealing, mousy brown-haired girl rushed up to Freya, wrapping her arms around her tightly, causing a small laugh to bubble up her throat.
“Hannah, you’re crushing me.”
“You’re late, you bitch. I had to walk here all by myself. I called you a thousand times.”
Freya apologised sheepishly, explaining that she’d fallen asleep, but her friend didn’t seem too concerned and thrust a red cup in her direction. However, Freya shook her head.
“I don’t think I’m going to drink tonight,” she stated, surprising me.
Her friend gazed up at me, her bold eyes widening before she sent Freya a look, smirking.
Brent and I stood in the middle of the crowded room awkwardly—stiff as boards—and I turned my head to see him being approached by a small group of girls. They all gawked at him flirtatiously, causing my eyes to roll.
Freya stiffened beside me, her gaze trailing down Brent’s body, and she looked up at me with perplexed eyes. I couldn’t understand what she was silently trying to tell me, though, and I cocked my head at her as she attempted to gain Brent’s attention.
You’re showing, she mouthed to my friend, and his eyes darkened, his hand immediately flying to his crotch with confusion.
“No,” I mumbled with a chuckle, pushing my leather jacket back the tiniest bit, showing just the tip of my gun, and Brent nodded in realisation, yanking his own jacket down slightly to cover his weapon that had dislodged itself from its holster. He politely smiled at the small group of girls and excused himself so he could subtly adjust the positioning of his gun.
“Let’s dance,” Hannah ordered, clutching onto Freya’s hand.
“Do you want to come?” Freya’s question took me off guard, and I narrowed my eyes at her, continuing to scan the crowd.
“I don’t dance.”
She hummed before they sifted through the mess of people, and I made my way to the corner of the room so I had a view of everyone. There was no way I was going to let Zach slip through my fingertips. If he was here and went anywhere near Freya, I was going to hang him from the wall and use him as my own personal live shooting target.
The corner of my lip flicked upwards at the thought, but I was snapped from my vulgar mind as someone stumbled over my foot, and the short guy wearing glasses turned around to apologise, frowning at the liquid he’d spilt over my shoes.
I huffed.
God, I hated college parties.