Page 19 of Locke

“Please,” I said instead, “help me.”

He looked at me for a beat, deliberating. I couldn’t understand the hesitation. A gummy bear was more hazardous than I was.

“Please,” I begged once more, sounding impatient. Time was not on my side.

Finally, he leaned over and unlocked the passenger seat, and I hurried around to climb in. Getting out of the cold was sweet bliss, though the car wasn’t blasting any heat. Shivering, I waved awkwardly at the man. “Thank you so much.”

He side-eyed me, still distrustful. “Where did you come from?”

I just looked at him, my breaths slowing. “Does it matter?”

“It does.”

I hesitated, knowing there was no way I could drag Locke into this without certain death for the two of us. “My car broke down.”

“Want me to fix it?”

“No. Can we go now?”

“Now, hold on a minute. I need to know what’s happened to you—”

“We don’t have time, mister. We really need to go—”

“And now you’re starting to scare me.”

I huffed, feeling frustrated. “Just drive!”

Before he could answer, a loud honk erupted. I jumped, staring back at the road. My stomach instantly tightened as a black car roared down the road, straight for us, its horns going crazy. Locke. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“What the hell?” grumbled the driver.

“Drive around him,” I demanded, frightened.

“He’s driving in the middle of the road—”

“Drive off the road then!” I screamed, anxiously.

But it was too late. The black car swerved in front of us, coming to a hard stop in front of the truck. The window rolled down, and Locke’s suited arm extended out of it, his bloody hand gripped around his gun. “Lioness,” he called out, calmly. “Get in the car.”

Fuck that.

“Do you have a phone?” I asked the driver.

But he was too busy staring at the gun, shaking hard. “Please,” he said. “I want no trouble—”

“I need your help,” I cut in. “You gotta help me—”

“Little lion,” Locke continued to call, and now his car door opened. Fuck x 2. His gigantic body stepped out, and fuck if he didn’t look like a scary bogeyman in the night. A beautifully suited one. With blood everywhere. He stared right at me, his face dark, venomous, like he was running out of patience. He slowly began to approach the driver’s side door.

“Please,” I continued to plea to the old man. “Just drive.”

But the man was in shock, his hands quaking as he dropped them from the steering wheel and watched as Locke stopped. He used the gun to knock on the window, and to my horror, the driver rolled it down. Locke turned his head to look inside, his eyes on me, but his voice directed to the man as he said, “Tell your guest to get out, and I’ll let you be on your way.”

“Don’t,” I said to the old man. “Please.”

But he turned his head to look at me, stark fear in his gaze. “Get out.”

Locke walked away from the truck and waited for me by the trunk of his car. He was going to put me back in it, wasn’t he?

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