Page 55 of Law Of Love

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.

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