Page 53 of Locke

“He doesn’t want to see you. He’s finished with you, don’t you get it? Get up, get dressed, we’re going.”

But I was shaking too much, finding it hard to absorb his words. He cursed, stomping around the room now. He whipped the blinds open and sunlight pierced me. I winced at it, raising a hand like it might cut me. The man turned to look at me, his voice growing louder to demand, “GET. UP.”

Feeling frustrated, I shouted back, “I JUST WOKE UP!”

“I don’t care!”

“Give me a fucking minute!”

I was lightheaded, hungry for food, for more sleep, for more of that absent man’s cock.

Oh, God.

He was finished with me.

And I still wanted his dick.

Slipping out of bed, the sheets fell from my body as I paced, shakily feeling lost because I didn’t know where to begin. I felt the man’s eyes on me as I aimlessly walked in circles, grabbing at that white plain shirt that was covered in Locke’s release, and then the shorts.

“Hey,” the man said now, his voice less aggressive. “Take a deep breath, alright? I know what you went through was traumatic, and we’re gonna talk about that in the car, but right now, just think about putting your clothes on. I’ll do the rest.”

But even as he said those words, I felt his gaze run along my naked body. His face tensing, his eyes flaring wide as he took in the state of me. I must have looked like a malnourished abuse victim. There was not one part of my body that wasn’t marked in some way.

Near tears, I stiffened a nod and did just that.

*

He told me his name was Jem.

I knew that name. They were part of the rumours about Locke.

He led me out of the room, allowing me to take my time as I dizzily followed him to the door. Locke’s men escorted us the whole way to the entrance of the apartment and parked on the road was a big truck. Jem opened the passenger side door and helped my tired legs up.

By this point, I was in a dream state.

Because one second my body had been pressed against Locke who was worshipping my name, and the next I had been carted into a truck by another big man.

When he climbed into the driver’s side, he didn’t speak for a few moments. He started the car and drove through a few construction sites, nodding a few hellos at more of Locke’s men and construction workers possibly employed by that man, too.

It was when we were finally on the road that he asked, “Where do you live?”

“Hawthorne,” I whispered numbly.

“Hawthorne,” he repeated, thoughtfully. “Rough place to live.”

I didn’t respond.

“Time with Locke took a toll on you, I can tell,” he said next. “Do you need to talk to someone about it?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“He raped you.” Jem’s hands tightened along the steering wheel. “He said it was sort of mutual, whatever the fuck that means, but…one look at you and there’s no way you wanted all those bruises. I…I have issues with Locke, but…you know, he’s been through a lot, and I ain’t making excuses, alright? Fuck no, I ain’t, and I feel very angry about it, and I’m sorry you’ve gone through hell, but I’ve pledged my loyalties to that man, and I ain’t putting that at risk—”

“He didn’t rape me,” I cut in, flatly.

“You don’t need to lie to me.”

“He didn’t rape me,” I repeated in a harder tone. “If you think what he did to me was bad, take a good look at him.”

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