Page 82 of Locke

“Where was he?” I asked him quietly.

Ryan’s jaw clenched. “He was wandering the fucking streets, Kali. He left through the patio door, and then he’d used the gate to leave.”

“I’m so sorry this happened—”

“That door was unlocked,” he hissed, staring disapprovingly at me.

I shook my head. “I made certain it was closed, Ryan. I checked on it before I went up—”

“I made sure it was locked, too, and you know they can’t reach the second lock.” Now he looked at me, his accusation like a slap in the face.

“I didn’t unlock the door,” I told him. “I didn’t go anywhere near it.”

“Then how did he get out?”

“I don’t know, but you can check the footage, Ryan. Check it and you’ll see.”

Flaring his nostrils, he growled, “Nothing recorded tonight. I checked as I searched for him. It was turned off. Did you do that?”

“No! I don’t know how, and even if I could, why would I?”

“To hide your tracks.”

“Ryan, I would never.” I shook my head, stuttering over my words. “I came up here, I started on dinner—”

“What if he got hit by a car?” he almost shouted, his face stretched thin with stress. “What if I didn’t find him, Kali?”

“I’m sorry,” I whispered contritely. “I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry?” he repeated, disgusted. “Sorry doesn’t cut it, Kali.”

“I know.”

“I trusted you!”

Shaking, I asked, “What can I do to help?”

“Nothing,” he viciously said. “I want nothing more to do with you. I should have fired you when he…” his words trailed away. Shaking his head, he turned back around and stomped out of the room, taking his daughter upstairs. My body felt stiff as I pushed back the tsunami of emotions threatening to spill.

I watched him settle her into her bed the same time I saw a black car stop in front of the house on another screen.

Locke.

And suddenly it all made sense.

He had done this.

He was ruining my fucking life.

He was easily becoming the sex you guiltily enjoyed and then profusely regretted the next morning.

I expected him to do what he always did, sit idle before taking off, but then the door opened, and his large body climbed out. Instead of wearing a suit, he was dressed in jogging pants and a sweater. My breath hitched as I watched him round the car before he stopped to lean back against it, his body facing the house, like he was waiting for me.

My vision darkened. The stress, the anger, the fucking hatred I felt for this man surged in me so strongly, I couldn’t stop myself from stomping out of that house. The door smashed open behind me as I ripped down the porch steps and went to him. I left all rational thought behind me. Whatever calm had been in me was gone, depleted, replaced by this running theme of insanity I felt—and it was his fault.

“It was YOU!” I screamed at him as I came at him, and I didn’t stop. I hurled myself in front of him, smashing my fists into his chest. “WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?”

He took my abuse with complete ease. He even let me hit him, and I caught the way his teeth clenched, like he wanted me to hurt him. He wanted me to slap him, and I did. I slapped at his face over and over again until his cheeks were blazing red. I slapped him until the scratch I’d given him in that club split back open, looking as angry as I felt.

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