Page 27 of Locke

Locke stopped before the trunk, and my heart sank to my stomach. I looked at him, shaking my head. “Don’t.”

He didn’t look at me as he popped the trunk, and I immediately regretted looking in.

The fat suited body of the man from before lay awkwardly bent inside it. I thought he was dead, until he let out a weak groan, and suddenly that was worse than being dead. Hearing him pained and groaning was like a harsh punch in the gut. Fear shot through me as I stared in terror at Locke, feeling sick to my stomach. I had bucked my hips for him in that field and sucked at his cock. I had—oh, fuck—I had almost whimpered in disappointment when he had pulled away instead of shoving his gigantic cock inside me.

This sick murderous, awful fucking monstrous man made me wet for him after he had cut my clothes off and made me lay face first in the wet earth.

My teeth chattered, the terror and disgust merging like a tornado inside me—

“If you don’t do as you’re told, I will force you in the trunk of the car with my good friend Pearson,” Locke told me then. “Don’t think he won’t violate you as he’s taking his final breaths. These rancid fucks will go out with a fucking bang—I’ve seen it before, even as I tortured them to death with my bare hands.”

Too horrified to respond, I simply stared at him, wide-eyed and frozen. He took one look at me and seemed pleased with that response because he swiftly slammed the trunk door down and advanced down the car to the passenger side. He opened it for me, and I shakily shuffled to him. I may have been horrified, but the hatred I felt for this man was so acute and sharp, I couldn’t stop my nostrils from flaring as he motioned me in with a jerk of his head.

I stared at the seat for a moment, panting as I realized that everything was going to change the second I slipped into his car. My eyes welled as a real plea sat at the borders of my mouth, urging me to beg for my freedom. That defiance reared its ugly head, keeping my mouth closed because I couldn’t allow myself to be weak. Not again.

Something heavy and warm came down around my shoulders just then. Shrouded in his scent, I looked down at the black suit jacket he’d covered me in. Confused by the soft gesture, I refused to look at him. I didn’t want to confront any warmth he might possess. It was hard enough feeling my body betray itself under his touch. This didn’t mean anything. For all I knew, he didn’t want my filthy body to mess his expensive car up.

Without another thought, I slipped into the car. He shut it straightaway and that was it. I’d done it. I didn’t run, and I didn’t plead. I had accepted this, and my spirit felt betrayed by that.

I could only see his silhouette in the dark as he moved around. I took this moment of solitude to look around the car. Leaning over, I felt for the steering wheel, wondering if he left his key in the ignition. There was nothing there. My shoulders slumped, and I dropped my head, feeling helpless. Doing that was a stupid move because his scent was stronger now that my nose was brushing along the fabric of his suit jacket. I ran my fingers down its silk inner lining, feeling my pulse jump knowing he had worn this while he had touched me.

Glancing up, I saw his figure in front of the car, facing me. I felt the heat of his stare on my skin. I felt exposed, transparent, like I’d been caught doing something I shouldn’t. More so than that, I felt like he could look into me and see my conflicted emotions laid bare. My chest tightened, and where my dismay should have been growing, it was another feeling altogether. One I couldn’t bear to confront.

He finally moved around the car, stopping once more at the trunk. I heard it pop open, and then the car rocked suddenly, like the suited man was fighting. I jumped as a pained howl erupted before the trunk slammed shut again. A moment later, the door opened, and Locke’s giant body slid in next to me. I didn’t want to ask what that was about. It was better not to know. Maybe he had gutted him again, this time for good, but then I heard light pounding coming from the trunk. They were weak, sloppy knocks, like the man truly was at the end of his life.

I glanced furtively in Locke’s direction. I heard the drops of water falling around him, landing on the leather seats. His breaths were loud and hard as he stuck the key into the ignition. The car roared to life, the headlights flashed on, and yet the interior of the car lights remained off, the only soft blue glow coming from the dashboard.

I studied his profile as he stared ahead, drumming his fingers along the steering wheel as he contemplated. I felt uneasy as I slowly shifted further into the door until my body was pressed against it.

“I can’t take you further beyond this point,” he spoke suddenly, his ominous words sending my heart into overdrive. “Not consciously.”

“What do you mean?” I asked carefully.

He leaned forward, his shoulder brushing along my knee, and popped the glovebox open. He rummaged for a few seconds, producing a small bag. Then he shut the glovebox and sat up.

“I’m going to give you a pill,” he explained. “You’re going to take it.”

Warning bells rang loud and clear. “Fuck no.”

I squinted hard, trying to see what he was doing as he unzipped the bag. I heard a bottle of pills rattling around. He unscrewed the lid and popped a pill into the palm of his hand. Reluctance seized me now as he extended his palm out to me.

“Take it,” he directed. “There’s a bottle of water in the cupholder.”

I shook my head, repeating, “Fuck no.”

“I’m not asking.”

“I don’t know what you’re giving me,” I hissed, feeling fired up now.

“A sleeping pill.”

“You have sleeping pills in your car?”

“Yes.”

“That sounds like bullshit. I could be swallowing cyanide for all I know.”

“Read the label on the bottle.”

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