Page 62 of Locke

I couldn’t even muster an apologetic look. Instead, I crossed my arms and turned to look at her. “You’ve been here your whole life, right, Syl?”

She nodded. “Born and raised.”

“I came here when I was twelve, so I missed a lot. Sort of felt like I walked midway into a storyline I didn’t understand, you know? There are some things I’m not quite aware of.”

Her brows furrowed. “What do you want to know exactly?”

I took a deep breath, petrified to say his name out loud, but… “What do you know about Max Locke?”

If she was onto me, she didn’t show it. She actually appeared bored by the question, like he wasn’t a new topic anymore. “He’s a rich, hot dick. Owns everything.”

“But…what do you know about him?”

She shrugged. “No one really knows much. He’s a Blackwater Boy.”

“I’ve heard that term a lot lately. What does it mean exactly?”

“Means he’s part of a ruthless little clique of guys. Four of them have been friends since childhood. One, Dominic, is in prison for murder, the other, Jem, owns a pub but he’s probably operating a chop shop, the third, Conor, is fucking psychotic, and Locke…well, he was raised in way worse conditions than we were.”

“How so?”

“His mom was a whore, apparently had a miserable death, too.” She rolled her eyes. “Only so many times you can slip into a car with a stranger and not get murdered. Idiot.”

I was taken aback by how callous she sounded. “People don’t choose to slip into a car unless they have to, Syl.”

“Yeah, sure,” she dryly replied. “Anyway, Max Locke had a fucked-up childhood. He went missing for like a month when he was a kid. We probably weren’t even born when it happened, and no one talks about it.”

“What happened to him?”

“No idea. Can’t get a straight answer from anyone. Probably ran away or some shit. There are all these conspiracy theories, but everyone’s too scared to say them out loud because he tends to silence anyone who talks.” Now she looked at me questionably. “Why are you so interested all of a sudden?”

I shook my head, quickly mining up an excuse. “Saw one of his boutique shops advertise for a job.”

“Girl, what the fuck, when do you have time for a fourth job?” Now she was annoyed. “You know you’re not going to get it, right? They are extremely picky who they hire.”

My mouth fell open, my ego bruised because what if I did apply to one of his stores? “Thanks for the support.”

“I’m being a good friend and not giving you false hope. They are super picky, and with the wages they offer, I can see why.” She shrugged dismissively. “You wouldn’t fit in, anyway. Doubt they hire chicks with bull piercings.”

I ran my fingers along my septum piercing, frowning. She didn’t notice how bothered I felt because she steamrolled straight through with a haughty, “When are we going to hang out? You know Eric’s been hounding me for another night at the club.”

I waved that off, my turn to be dismissive. “Have him. All yours.”

Her mouth dropped. “No, silly, he was asking for you.”

“Yeah, that ship sailed. Not interested.”

She scoffed. “You gotta forgive him for what happened at the club. He didn’t know where you were. You said you were in the bathroom, and you guys got separated when there was a shooting. Um, hello, that’s nothing to blame him for!”

“I’m not blaming him for anything. I understand.”

“Let him make it up to you.”

“I don’t want to.”

“What the fuck, Kali?” she huffed. “Guys like him are hard to find.”

Why was so she pushy about this? I felt annoyed. “Then you have him.”

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