Page 41 of Locke 2

I knew Dominic’s case had taken tremendous work, but outside of that, what did Locke do when he had spare time? What were his thoughts like? What did he feel? Would he consider himself a happy man? Or even just content? Was he funny? Did he crack jokes to his friends? Did he even have friends? I knew Conor was important to him, and that dickhead guy Jem, too. Dominic was obviously someone special to him because they grew up together and look at what he’d done to get him out.

Yes, this wanting to know was a sick obsession that was now spreading across my chest like a virus. Holy shit, I needed it to stop, but my mind wouldn’t quiet down. It just kept going. The wondering and needing to know and—

Oh, my god, was this what it had been like for him this entire time?

“It’s called karma,” Aurora whispered, though she didn’t make her presence known, but I could hear the smile in her voice. “All it takes is for you to surrender.”

“No.”

“It’s going to happen.”

“This is why I hid,” I groaned.

And like a shot to the chest, she retorted, “You should have run.”

Tell her to run.

Run.

Run.

“Hide.”

Twenty

Locke

The home smelled of mildew and decay when he entered in the dead of night. The air felt damp, and he understood why as he shined his torch light around the living space. There were cracks all along the foundation of the little townhome. Water lines decorated the walls, puddling at the very bottom of the distorted skirting boards.

His shoes crunched over random rubbish left behind. It did very much look like this mother had fled. Garbage bags were piled by the door. There was a mouldy smell of off food lingering in the kitchen. Cans of empty baked beans and old potatoes littered the small kitchen counter.

His men were already scouring the neighbouring towns, searching for her and the little boy. If they were out there, they’d find them soon.

And then what?

Locke thought of Kali. Once the boy was discovered, would she tell him to go? When she did—because he was certain she would—would he go?

His phone buzzed in his hand. He glimpsed the message from Charlotte.

What are you planning to do, Locke?

So, she found out where he was.

Like last time, she was trying to get in the way.

Charlotte needed to mind her own business. She’d done enough damage. It was so easy for her to wield judgement when she had her happy ending. Didn’t people like Locke deserve those, too? He wondered what his might look like. Wanting to abduct the woman you desperately desired to keep didn’t sound like the start of one’s token happy ending.

He ignored her message and continued to survey the tiny property. It was a shithole. He expected this. This mother hadn’t been able to hold down a job, and she was acquainted with unsavoury people. He gleaned that much within hours of being in this town.

There were two bedrooms. The first one was large and reeked of stale beer. There were grimy bed sheets on the floor and the beaten-up frame of a queen-sized bed, but no mattress. He found empty hangars and a rolled-up rug in the closet. He grabbed the rug and pulled it out, unravelling it on the floor. It was a grey hallway rug. Old, musty. He ran the light over it. There were crumbs and food stains—

Droplets of what looked like blood on one of the corners held his attention. He ran his fingers over it, frowning. Just droplets.Not a puddle. It didn’t mean anything, and why did he think it was blood anyway? It might be paint or juice—

Except it was reddish brown and he just had a feeling this mother didn’t add grape juice to her shopping list under the baked beans, crackers and potatoes.

Still.

It didn’tmeananything.

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