23. Twenty-three Freya
Twenty-three: Freya
I heard footsteps behind me but ignored them, rounding the corner towards the lit-up bathroom sign. Before I could shove the door open, though, my wrist was grabbed, and I was pressed against the cold wall. Kaleb stared back at me with fiery eyes, his touch tentative and soft—yet possessive and dominant.
He gulped as he studied me. “If you think I'm going to sit and listen to you talk about your date with another guy, then you're incredibly mistaken, Freya.”
He was so close. His minty breath fanned across my face, and I swallowed harshly as I studied his smooth skin. He'd shaved before coming out, and I resisted the urge to trace my fingertips down his jawline.
“I won't allow someone else to take what I want.”
His words rang loud and clear as they entered my ears, bouncing off the inside of my skull and giving me a banging headache. How could a headache feel so good, though?
I won't allow someone else to take what I want.
My core was warm, and my arousal grew, the feeling of Kaleb’s sizzling body so close forcing me to release a small whimper. He gazed down at my lips, and before I knew it, they were on mine—desperate and demanding.
He held my wrists above my head as his mouth moved against my own. I’d never felt something so explosive. So incredible and magical. I couldn't think clearly, but I also didn't want to. This was an enchantment that I never wanted to be freed from.
Kaleb’s rock-hard cock brushed past my thigh, and I pushed myself further up against him, causing a strained grunt to escape his mouth.
The sound was going to haunt me.
“Did he touch you?” he asked in between kisses, his lips finding my neck.
I tilted my head back to give him better access. “What?”
“Your date. Did he touch you?” I shook my head, but Kaleb gave me a gentle warning squeeze. “Use your words, Freya. Tell me if he touched you.”
“No. He didn't touch me."
He hummed huskily, and it seemed he released a pent-up breath, his chest expanding as he relaxed from my response.
I squeezed my legs together to block out the burning sensation between them, but it didn't help, and Kaleb smiled against my skin. I arched my back as he released my hands, his palms travelling down my arms and stopping at my breasts.
“Tell me,” he mumbled as he pressed another kiss to my lips, his finger tracing my hardened nipple. “Could he ever make you feel like this?”
No, no, and no.
I clamped my mouth shut as I swallowed because I knew that if I didn't, I was going to beg Kaleb to do things to me that were definitely not appropriate for a bar corridor.
Pinching my nipple between his fingers, he pulled back, shuffling so that one of his legs was in between my own, his thigh against my core. “I'm waiting for an answer, Freya. I'm not a patient man.”
“No,” I sighed, meeting Kaleb's lust-filled eyes. “He couldn't.”
Humming, he studied me. “Remember that the next time you go on a date with him.” He dipped his chin at me, watching me intently.
God, I wanted his lips back on mine.
My phone suddenly clattered to the floor—having fallen from my pocket as it vibrated—and Kaleb hooked his finger under my chin to stop me from gazing down.
“Ignore it,” he ordered, pressing his lips back to my neck, but when it buzzed again against my shoe, I groaned and quickly snuck a glance at it to see who was hounding me.My breath hitched.
An unknown number.
Instinct took over, and I bent down to answer the call.
My lips parted. I could hear a quiet voice on the other end of the line—his distinctive huskiness was easy to identify. My eyes turned to saucers, and Kaleb glanced down at me with concern before he shoved a fire escape door open, gesturing for me to exit.
The wind whipped around me violently, my hair whirling around my face, and I clutched the phone even tighter in my numb and quivering hand.
“Hello? Dad? Say that again,” I shouted, my voice wavering slightly. It didn't feel real—like I was having some out-of-body experience.
Kaleb watched me with a taut jaw, the muscle pulsating at the mention of my father.
“Freya? Freya, can you hear me?”
My heart leapt out of my chest at the unmistakable sound of his voice. I nodded. “Yes, I can hear you. Dad, where are you? What's going on?”
He sighed heavily, and I picked up on some shuffling and muttering before my father spoke again. “Listen to me very carefully. Things are messy right now. I don’t know what’s going to happen, so—“
He didn’t finish his sentence.
Nausea wafted through me at his words, my face blanching, and I suddenly felt as if I was about to pass out. For some pathetic reason, I’d believed he was calling to let me know he was about to board a plane home and would see me tomorrow. Instead, this sounded more like a goodbye.
“What are you talking about?” I muttered, my throat drying up. “Dad? Where are you?”
“I don’t know.” His voice turned frosty.
“You need to come home.”
I could faintly hear my father speaking, but I couldn’t make out what he was saying. It appeared as if he had set the phone down.
“Is this about the debt?” My tone took on a frantic inflexion, and my eyes met Kaleb's. His own father had struggled with gambling, and perhaps the risky pastime was also my own father’s vice. “If it is, we can sort it out. Just come back, and we can fix this.”
Muttering. Multiple people muttering.
My father wasn't alone.
I flinched at the sound of a yell, and I gathered the phone had clattered to the floor, the sound of a struggle reaching my ears.
“Dad? Are you okay?” My body was screaming at me in alarm.
“Freya?” A pained groan escaped his mouth.
“Who are you with? Who's there with you?”
“They’re—“
Before my father could respond, the call was cut off, and I stood frozen in the middle of the tiny trash area with Kaleb drifting towards me. I immediately attempted to call the number back, but it failed, indicating I’d been blocked.
“Freya,” muttered Kaleb as he cupped my cheeks, my hazy eyes looking straight through him as he crouched down to my level, trying to gain my attention. “Hey, talk to me. What happened?”
I wanted to scream. To yell, but it was as if all my emotions had been sucked from my body, dissipating into the surrounding air. I felt empty. Numb. “My dad…” I muttered, my voice barely above a whisper. I was surprised Kaleb heard it over the pumping of the music.
“What did he say, Freya?” He pried the phone from my hand, studying my call history.
“He wasn't alone, Kaleb. It sounded like someone… was hurting him.”
Kaleb cursed under his breath, glaring down at my screen. “It’s alright. Come on.”
Brent and Kaylee were more than understanding when Kaleb explained to them I needed to leave because of a family emergency. He drove like a drag racer all the way to the police station, shoving past the line of people waiting and placing his hands on the reception desk, still clutching my phone. “We need to speak with someone.”
The grey-haired receptionist glared at him, cocking her head as she repositioned her glasses onto the tip of her nose. “Well, I'm afraid you're going to have to—“
Kaleb huffed, yanking out a badge from his jacket, practically shoving it into her face. She gawked at it for a few seconds before she widened her eyes, nodding, gesturing for us to take a seat and letting us know that somebody would be right with us.
I bounced my leg up and down anxiously as we waited on the rock-hard chairs—with Kaleb clicking his tongue as he cracked his knuckles. He still held onto his badge, and I leaned over and tentatively took it from him, swiping my fingers over the cool metal. I couldn’t sit in silence any longer.
“Do you carry this with you everywhere?” I asked, and he nodded.
“Except for when I go to the shooting range.” His eyes were fixated on the wall in front of us. He always seemed to close himself off when I brought up his job.
“Brent told me about the raid you guys did a little while ago, where that guy died.” I wasn’t sure why I was bringing it up, but a small part of me hoped that Brent was exaggerating. Knowing that Kaleb was risking his life every time he disappeared to work caused my stomach to flip.
His eyes faltered, and he turned to me with a stone-cold expression. “He wasn't the first and certainly won't be the last.”
It was the harsh reality of his line of work. Deep down, I knew that, and I cleared my throat, waiting a few seconds before asking my next question. It’d been playing on my mind recently, but I hadn't mustered up the courage to spit it out. I took a deep breath. “Have you ever killed anybody?”
Kaleb froze, greedily inhaling oxygen as he gazed down at the rings wrapped around his fingers, playing with them—yet another nervous habit he seemed to possess. “I have.”
It wasn't the news that I wanted to hear, but I’d been expecting it. He killed criminals—criminals he had to kill before they killed him.
“Does that make you look at me differently?” Kaleb queried, hiking his eyebrows up, the artificial police station lights casting shadows onto his high cheekbones and jawline, making them look even more defined.
“No. You have to do it.”
He chuckled—no humour to it. “That's a nice way of calling me a murderer.”
“You’re not a murderer, Kaleb.”
He hummed. “I've seen more shit in the past five years than most people see in their entire lives. I've had people I’ve worked with die on me, and I've had to watch them bleed out on the floor of old warehouses, too busy trying to stop myself from getting killed to save them.” He cocked his head at me. “I knew what I was signing myself up for, though. I knew the nature of the line of work I was going into when I started, but nothing prepares you for the feeling you experience when you shoot your first live person in the head or when you watch one of your friends die at your feet for the first time. That shit fucks with you, and now I think nothing of it. I’m so accustomed to it that I actually enjoy killing people that deserve it.”
I ground my teeth together, placing my hand on the side of Kaleb's cheek, caressing it gently. “Maybe you need to talk to someone about this.”
“The base has therapists. It's one of the reasons they want us to live close to them—so they can monitor our well-being. A few people within the organisation have taken their own lives.”
I inhaled deeply, the thought of him ever having to deal with those sorts of emotions causing my heart to ache, and I opened my mouth to speak, but he interrupted me with a chuckle.
“Don't worry, sweetheart. I'm not about to jump off the top of a building. Who would rid the world of sex traffickers and mafia lords, then?”
“Mr Evans, it's good to see you.”
I dragged my eyes away from Kaleb at the sound of the voice, glancing at the stocky, bald man in uniform peeking out of his office, waving the both of us inside.
“Mr Walliams,” Kaleb greeted, closing the door behind him and pulling a chair out for me, placing my phone on the desk.
“What can I do for you today?” he asked as he typed on his computer, a friendly smile plastered on his face.
“This call,” Kaleb said as he tapped on my screen. “Trace where it came from.”
I sighed. He really wasn't one for manners, was he?
Mr Walliams snickered, taking my phone in his hands. “Demanding as always, Mr Evans. I'll just need to take a few details first.”