But just because he was quiet didn’t mean we didn’t do our homework. We knew his history. Knew he’d lived his life on the street, then inside. That meant he knew the rules of the street. He was trying his best to play it straight and narrow which meant politely declining the one business opportunity that we’d presented him with.
Other clubs might’ve insisted he take the deal, but Hansen wasn’t like that. We were outlaws, but we stayed as clean as we could. Didn’t drag in people who didn’t want to be there. In my experience, that caused problems eventually.
Kallum hadn’t wanted to be involved in anything with us.
Probably because he never wanted to be inside again. I got that. But I was interested to see how far that went. If he was willing to throw it all away for the battered woman in this bed. The woman he obviously cared about. The woman who laughed with him easily, touched his fucking hand, who he knew well enough to go into her house and gather shit for her.
I knew I was willing to fucking die for her already, as fucking insane as that was.
There were a couple of long moments where it looked like Kallum was ready to throw it all away for this woman—like any sane or insane man would—ready to go against me and the club to protect her. Something inside me awakened, ears perked, hungry for blood.
But then whatever fire that had sparked inside of Kallum, the kind of fire that was ready to burn the world down for the right woman—it died.
It couldn’t be because Freya wasn’t the right woman for him—she was the right fucking woman for every man. Maybe he was too haunted by his past, too trapped by his own sanity to set the world on fire for any woman.
For whatever reason, he backed down.
“She asked for this.” Instead of handing the bag to me, he moved farther into the room. It took everything inside of me not to stop him bodily as he placed the bag on the opposite side of the bed from where I’d been sitting.
Without looking at me, he focused on Freya, his jaw stiff, brows narrowed. He lifted his hand to gently brush her hair from her forehead.
I had to clench my fists at my sides so I didn’t rip his fucking arm off. Eventually, after a goddamn eternity, he moved from her side, walking back around the bed.
“I swear to fuck, if you had anything to do with this, I’ll hold you personally responsible,” he ground out.
I chuckled. “Yeah, buddy, I’m quaking in my fuckin’ boots here,” I said because I knew I could take him with one hand tied behind my back and also because I wanted to taunt him. Wanted to see if he’d lose it and give me what I needed.
Blood.
But after a beat, he turned on his heel and left.
It took five minutes for me to unclench my fists, to figure out a way to touch Freya again without brutality. But I did. I sat beside her bed, lifted her tiny hand and secured it in mine.
Then I waited for the sun to rise. Swiss and Elden had said they’d be there by dawn. They’d been on a run but had ridden through the night to get back. I’d shot off a text to Hansen in the early hours, telling him I needed details on what the fuck happened and who the fuck did this as soon as possible. I wasn’t meant to be the one giving orders to my president, but he also knew that I wasn’t one to be demanding this shit unless it fucking mattered.
Both Swiss and Elden cursed and let out hisses of breath when they’d walked into the room, laying eyes on Freya. I didn’t like their fury. There was ownership behind that. They were fucking furious because they cared. Too many fucking men cared about Freya. But for now, I had to lock that down since they were men who could help me track down the one who did this to her.
I’d herded them out of the room in order to speak without waking her up and because I didn’t want their fucking eyes on her.
“We tapped the security cameras outside Fate,” Swiss filled me in, his eyes dark. “Lucky for us, Kallum pays for a top-notch system, gets it updated and serviced regularly. Crystal fucking clear. Got his face, car, license plate. Derek Ashton. Old money. No connection to us which means it’s something personal with Freya.”
Nothing in me relaxed at that news. Whether or not it was the club’s fault that Freya was in that bed, her face battered like that, it didn’t matter. What mattered is that she was fucking there in the first place. If anything, the attack having nothing to do with us was worse because we didn’t know what the fuck we were dealing with. The club was a lifestyle, a family, a brotherhood, but it was also a business. Yes, there were some jumped-up cowboys who didn’t know the rules to this business, something our chapter knew all too well. But on the whole, there were rules, and most people, even the dirtiest and most ruthless of criminals, the coldest of psychopaths, played by the fucking rules. In business. This being personal made it all the more dangerous for Freya.