Locke 2 (Blackwater Boys #4)

Six

Kali

I felt like a spy when I smuggled the colouring book into the classroom, keeping a lookout for Patsy. It would be easy to slip it into Lenny’s bag. I had to collect their planners before the end of the day and make sure they’d written down the notes their parents would need to check up on. Patsy was supposed to look them over and initial them and sticker them, but now that I was here, I was the one doing it on my lunch break.

When I got to Lenny’s book, I flipped to his page and saw his gigantic letters. “NO SHCHOOL FRIDIY” on it. I chuckled at the random doodles along the page. Stick figures that looked like army men and tanks and—-

My head tilted to the side as I narrowed my eyes at what looked like a drawing of a door. There was something off about it, though. Where the handle should be was a giant circle with a keyhole in it. Next to the door was a big square with a line going through the middle, and another running down the top. A window? But if it was a window, why was there a stick head smiling in it? Was that a face he drew looking out of the window? Or was that a face looking into the window?

A chill ran through me.

I flipped through other pages, searching for more doodles, but the rest weren’t this detailed. I went back to the pictures again and traced my finger along the door, my frown deepening. What was on the door—

The bell rang, jolting me out of my thoughts. I quickly scribbled my initials on the page and slammed it shut. Then, as I slid the planner into his backpack, I included the dinosaur colouring book.

Take that, Patsy.

◆◆◆

“You’ll get what you want. You’ll never see him again.”

I opened my eyes, the memory plaguing me. Being carried out in large arms. Slipping into a truck. Driven away.

I learned a lot about Locke.

I learned that I should stay away.

Even if I thought about him every single day, I couldn’t get close to him. Because, according to Charlotte, Locke was a raven of sorts. You saw him and death followed. Either in the form of a transformation, or a way out of this world.

Yet I still found myself dreaming of that bedroom. Of his body over mine. Pinning me beneath him, fucking me like he might die if he didn’t. His sweat coating my skin. His teeth running along my flesh.

If I thought about it hard enough, I could feel it.

I was right there. Riding him, fucking him, slapping him, crying out his name as he dominated me, as he chased me down and forced me to take every inch of him.

I came to that man more times than I could count. My hand buried between my legs, searching a high that never truly came.

I was empty, unsatisfied, and pining.

Always fucking pining.

I spent way too much time reading that damn newspaper. Tracing my finger along his name.

Max Locke.

Max Locke.

Max Locke.

What was he doing in that very moment? Did he think about me? Did I mean something to him? Charlotte’s words singed me.

“If you can’t accept the way he is, in all his brutality and cruelty, then you have to let him go,” she’d implored. “I don’t think he will ever stop wanting you. Men like Locke don’t simply move on. They wait.”

“For what?” I asked.

“For an opportunity to take back what they feel belongs to them.”