Page 17 of Locke

Fucker had killed a man and I let him touch my pussy thereafter.

I couldn’t decide in that moment as my body tossed and turned in that fucking trunk who the crazier one was.

*

After a short while on the road and my incessant screaming, his radio had flipped on to an old hits station. I could hear it plain as day, could even feel the speakers vibrating from back here.

I must say, this is the comfiest trunk I’ve ever rode in. I thought to myself just then, and then I started to laugh. Because why not laugh? I was already tired of crying and getting angry wasn’t accomplishing much except exhausting the ever-loving fuck outta me.

I sang to Cats in the Cradle at the top of my lungs. Let the fucker hear me. Let him know that he was going head-to-head with a crazy bitch that wasn’t going to just bow the fuck down and beg or cry. Been there, done that!

I was going to die anyway.

Might as well go out with a fucking bang. Both figuratively and possibly physically because I had a feeling this sick bastard was going to have his way with me.

I searched for anything in the car, but I just felt its carpet and nothing else. It was totally empty with just me in it. I vaguely remembered that cars had a way to open the trunk from the inside, but I never committed that shit to memory. I did know it had something to do with a cable line, and maybe it was beneath the carpet, but as I dejectedly searched, none of the carpet pulled up, and it was hard to know what the hell I was doing in pitch black.

I would not be able to pull off a Rambo.

And what Rambo felt the dick of a notorious murderer just to see if they were as hot and bothered?

Oh, just me?

Of course, I did.

I’m so fucked up.

Then, much too soon, the car came to a stop and the radio turned off. Silence followed. My anxiety grew tenfold when the driver’s side door closed, causing the car to jolt. My body swayed with the movement. Shivering from the cold, I waited for him to round the car and open the trunk, but he didn’t.

Voices caught my attention. Muffled at first, and then sort of clear.

“My men forwarded you the client list,” said an unfamiliar voice.

“The boys are costly,” responded Locke.

The other man chuckled. “Pleasure costs, doesn’t it, Mr Smith?”

Smith?

What the fuck was happening?

“How fortunate I am,” Locke replied coolly. “To have found you both in one night, Mr Pearson.”

“What do you mean?”

Yeah, what the fuck did he mean?

It suddenly occurred to me I was legit just laying there listening to this bastard talk to another man while I was back here in his trunk. How fucking bold of Locke.

I pounded on the trunk, screaming, “Help!”

“What the hell is that?” asked the man.

“I kidnapped a girl.”

“Did you really?”

“Here, I’ll show you.”

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