Page 13 of Law Of Love

Kaleb ran his tongue along the front of his teeth before he glared at Brent with intense eyes, cursing under his breath. His gaze flickered between us, and he shook his head in defeat. “Fine, but I don't want her getting in the way. We had enough drama last night.”

A grin broke out on Brent’s freckled face as he addressed me. “Come on. No point staying indoors all day.”

My interest got the better of me as I watched Kaleb stalk towards his large black Jeep and hop in. The engine roared, my body shuddering. There was something about him that felt so dangerous and mysterious, and although I knew it was supposed to drive me away, it didn’t. I wanted to dig a little deeper.

I also didn't like that he disliked me. If we were going to be living under the same roof, we needed to learn to get along. I wasn't sure when my father was going to be back, and I knew it could be another couple of weeks before he returned our texts and calls and sorted the debt out.

I followed Brent toward the car, sitting in the back, my eyes travelling down to Kaleb's waist. I spotted his hefty handgun—the one that I'd been searching for last night—and gulped at the thought that he could kill anyone he wanted to ‌with the flick of his wrist.

“Where are we going?” I asked after a minute of silence, the thick air feeling tense and almost suffocating.

“To a shooting range," Kaleb responded, glancing at me through his rear-view mirror, a smirk playing on his lips. “We can turn around if that’s too much for you. I have no problem dropping you back home.”

A huff escaped my lips, and I shook my head at him before resting my forehead against the cold window. Concentrating on college work was unfathomable with a pounding headache anyway. I rubbed at my temples, the quick movements of the car making me feel slightly dizzy and nauseous, and when we finally reached our destination, I all but leapt out of the vehicle.

“Whatever you do, don’t mention anything about our jobs,” Kaleb warned me quietly. I opened my mouth to question him, but a loud voice cut me off.

“Kaleb, Brent! Who have we got here?”

We all turned to see a tall, middle-aged man with slicked-back hair stalking towards us. He grinned at the boys, gazing down at me with confusion, raising his brow.

“Will, this is Freya,” Brent said, and I smiled. “Freya, this is Will Sheffield. He owns this place.”

Will gazed at me through dark brown eyes—red and bloodshot. He clutched onto a cigarette with stubby fingers and took a puff as he grinned. “Nice to meet you. How long have you been shooting for?”

“Oh, I don't—”

“She’s a great shooter,” Kaleb interrupted, playing with his gun in his hands and stalking toward the entrance to the shooting range, beckoning us with a nod of his head.

I’d never picked up a gun in my life. Why lie?

The sound of gunfire immediately ricocheted off the metal walls and hit my eardrums piercingly, my headache becoming even more intense. There were only a few other small groups here, and Will took us over to a spot in the corner before leaving us to it, a target having been placed at the end of a long stretch.

Thin metal walls separated every group of shooters, and the sound of limbs coming into contact with tin travelled through the air as a few men kicked at them in frustration after missing their shots.

Kaleb immediately pulled his gun out, aiming it and shooting, the bullet flying through the air and hitting the target bang in the middle. He wasn't wearing eye or ear protection, and it made me realise how rundown and shady this place actually looked.

People were milling about casually, laughing and joking with each other as they strutted through the building with their loaded guns hanging from their waists—most of them heavily tattooed and eerie-looking. It didn’t look like anyone was without an alcoholic drink, either. Was drinking and shooting really a good combination?

Brent pulled his gun from his jeans and aimed, his bullet soaring through the air and hitting the target also—his a little too far to the right.

“How do you never miss?” Brent grumbled, shaking his head as Kaleb took another shot, the gun recoiling back slightly in his large hands.

“I practise when you piss me off,” he muttered casually, his lips threatening to curve upward.

Had Mr Grumpy just made a joke?

Brent held his gun out to me, causing my eyes to widen, and I shook my head, shifting my weight from one foot to the other. I'd never held a gun before—let alone shot one.

Kaleb leaned back against the wall with folded arms, eyeing me up as I stared between the gun I was being offered and Brent's cheesy grin.

“She'll kill someone,” Kaleb stated, shaking his head. His throat bobbed up and down as he released a slight chuckle, his prominent Adam’s apple causing my throat to tighten.

“Not if we show her how to do it,” Brent argued, pressing the gun into my grip and encouraging me to step up to the shooting pass. I did so with sweaty palms, the gun feeling as if it was about to slide right out of my hand.

“No, no,” Kaleb groaned, moving closer to me and scowling down at my grip on the gun. “Your middle finger should go here.” He manoeuvred it upwards slightly before holding onto my arm to adjust my entire grasp, nodding at me once satisfied.

I gulped. I hadn’t expected him to touch me, and for some pathetic reason, it sent shivers down my spine. The scent of his cologne wafted up my nostrils, and I breathed it in greedily before I composed myself. This guy was hot, but he was also an ass. I needed to remind myself of that.

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