Page 56 of Law Of Love

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.

Twenty-five: Kaleb

“What do you mean, you can't trace the call?” I snapped with gritted teeth into my phone, causing my chief to sigh from his end of the line, taking no more than a second to respond.

“We don't deal with personal matters, Kaleb,” he said with little to no expression. “Somebody's father doing a runner isn't our problem. It's not a case we're working on. The police are aware of it and will apply their resources without needing our help.”

I resisted the urge to berate him, but there was clearly no changing his frigid mind.

“Any more on Will?” he asked me, changing the subject, and I internally groaned.

“No.” I scratched the back of my neck as I leaned up against the wall, my eyes travelling to the photos of my sister hanging on the wall. I ran my tongue along the front of my teeth, my jaw aching from having it clenched for so long.

“When will you next be heading over there?”

“Tonight,” I responded coldly.

“Let me know how it goes.”

I cut off the call, running a hand down my face as I glared out of the condensation-covered window. The weather outside reflected my mood. Shit.

The anniversary of Brie's death was fast approaching, and no matter how much I prepared myself, whenever the date swung around, I found myself battling intensely with my inner demons.

My mother often spiralled around this time of year, but since her good friend had moved in and had been keeping her company, she’d been distracted. It was a good thing, but I was concerned that the grief was going to hit her full force on the day.

Annoyance flowed through my veins, but I pushed it aside to make my way upstairs to knock on Freya's bedroom door.

“Just a second,” she called from the other side, and I waited with my arms folded and my shoulder leaning against the wooden doorframe.

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