Page 44 of Locke

For the first time in, well, ever, my walls were down.

There was nobody I was trying to impress, or fool, or simply put up a pretence for the sake of being easy to be around.

I stepped out, hiding my surprise. The bedding had been changed, too. And Locke was sitting on the fresh sheets, still butt-naked, spinning a watch around his wrist. A watch he wore as he fucked me. A watch he wore when he bathed. A watch with a crack on the face that was stuck on a time.

This watch made me curious.

He looked up as I entered, his eyes on my own rather than my body. Which was unnerving. Because he was choosing to look straight into my eyes above all else. Not typical male behaviour I was accustomed to.

“There are clothes on the dresser,” he said. “And a tray of food.”

I walked to the dresser across the room. There was a folded pile of silky shorts and a loose, white top. No bra. Why would I need it when I knew he was going to just tear them off me eventually?

“Women’s clothes,” I noted, dryly. “From your previous imprisoned girls, I take it.”

I waited for his acknowledgement.

But he said nothing at all.

A sour feeling settled into my stomach as I risked a glance in his direction.

Was he choosing not to respond because my statement was outrageous? Or because I was spot on?

I redirected my gaze on the tray of food. Chicken and vegetables. The aroma was to die for. I slipped the clothing on and took the tray to the bed. I made sure to sit as far away from him, but he turned his body to look at me, this riveted expression on his face as I took a bite and resisted moaning.

I hadn’t eaten in so long.

Even before this shit-fuck of a mess, food was managed under a strict budget.

The portions on my plate were huge.

“You need more food,” he suddenly noted, disapprovingly. “Put a few more pounds on, little prey. Maybe you’d fight harder.”

I looked up, feeling a bitterness climb up my throat as I retorted, “Do you think I choose not to eat, Locke?”

He blinked, considering my question. “Some things about you denote a poor lifestyle, but then you wore that dress—”

“I stole it,” I cut in, lying because there was no way I was going to throw Sylvia under the bus. “From one of your boutiques, in fact. Am I going to wind up in a ditch for such a transgression against you?”

His lips spread into an amused smile. “I have no desire to hurt you.” I raised a brow and he let out a hard laugh. “I’m not talking about that sort of way. I’m talking about actually hurting you.” His eyes looked deeper into mine, that riveted stare intensifying. “I care for my own, regardless of their crimes against me.”

A bolt of warmth struck me. I sat stiffly, doing my best to look back at him as I whispered, “I’m not yours, Locke.”

Now his face cooled and he looked away. “Eat up, little prey. The sooner you’re done, the sooner I can have my meal.”

“I’m not stopping you from eating—”

“I’m not talking about food.”

His gentleness was disarming me.

My heart fluttered, heat burned my cheeks as I looked down at my food, appetite for it all gone.

He stood up and disappeared from the bedroom. Moments later, I heard him talking on the phone, that gentle tone he’d given me absent as he berated the person on the line with harsh demands and, “Are you stupid? Because if you’re questioning a task as simple as that, I’d have hired a fucking kindergartener to do the work I’ve given you, and Frederique, I’d have paid that fucking kid twice what I’m paying you. Stop being a slow cunt and find me the record of every fucking benefactor that was part of that kid’s charity. You have until tonight, and if I don’t receive it, I’m going to assume you’re in league with them, and if you are, I will fucking kill you like I have to half the cunts I’ve already found, but this time, Fred-cunt, I’m going to take my fucking time.”

That warmth in the pit of my stomach turned to icy cement.

*

---