Locke

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Tucking the rag into the belt on my waist, I put down new place mats and silverware on the high-top table. Golden's wasn't too busy this time of day, a few customers here and there, but that was it.

Leaning against the counter, I counted my tips and groaned to myself.

Sixty bucks. . .

I'm going to need to pick up a double this weekend if I want to be able to pay rent.

Crumbling the money, I stuffed it back in my pouch and began to tidy up behind the bar. The music played quietly, soft rock classics. I guess it was the popular choice for our general customer group, I could take it or leave it.

“Excuse me?” A deep voice, hoarse as whiskey and smooth like cognac, asked as a large hand settled on the shiny wood surface. “Can I sit here?”

My eyes shifted, leaving the stack of shot glasses and raising to a man, a man whose face was soft and rough, covered in stubble like he hadn't shaved in days. It was sexy, he was the perfect mix of handsome and gritty.

A soft smile sat on his face, his eyes were gentle and shadowed by heavy lids. He looked tired and worn, but his smile was infectious, crawling across my face and warming my skin.

I stood silent, unable to form words, unable to create thoughts. He was stunning. His jaw was hard and sharp, his hair was shaved on the sides with the top long and tousled like he had styled it to be messy.

Broad shoulders were tucked inside a gray blazer, the arms were rolled up, exposing the firm muscles of his forearms. Thick, black lines coiled around his skin as bright pops of color created leaves and fish and portraits in permanent ink that scarred the surface.

Shaking my head, I took in a deep breath and smiled, re-grounding myself. “Yeah, yeah, that's fine.”

Pulling out the chair, he climbed up and sat down, resting his arms in front of him on the bar. Staring at me, his eyes fluttered over my face, finding my throat and chest and raising back up. “Do you have a menu?”

“Oh, yeah, sorry, here you go.” Grabbing a menu out from under the bar, I handed it to him. “I'll be honest, the food isn't the best, but if I was to recommend something, the turkey club isn't so bad.” Nervously, I fiddled with the shot glasses and made small stacks on the counter.

My gaze kept flirting with his, locking and breaking, holding and tempting. I was afraid I'd stare for too long, giving him the wrong impression. I was not in any way, shape, or form ready to date or hookup with a guy I just met; let alone someone who just waltzed into the bar.

But it was hard to not look. My eyes kept drifting up, swallowing his features, wanting to drink them up drop after drop.

“I'll take your word on it, the turkey club it is.” Smiling, he pushed the menu to the side and braided his fingers together. “I'll even let you make me a drink, anything you want, surprise me.” His lips folded high, revealing bright white teeth as his tongue tempted the opening and licked his lips.

My cheeks blushed, the heat spreading down over my face and into my chest. I could hear my heart thudding, beating against my ribs as his eyes stayed on my face and a sexy smirk peeled up to one side.

“Sure.” A grin slid over my mouth, it was slow and warm, forcing my nerves to spark with excitement. “Are you a hard or soft liquor man?”

“I'm whatever kind of man you want me to be.” Tilting his head, he winked.

I couldn't remember the last time a man made me feel like this. I was blushing from the inside out, my stomach coiled up like rope, my hands instantly started to sweat as the electricity fired off inside my brain.

Most of the time I would cower or draw up my wall to protect myself. The past had scarred me, it had tarnished any relationship that even tried to begin.

There was no trust on my end, no way for me to open myself up to someone who might see me as damaged. Because that's what I was, I was broken and destroyed long before any man came into my life.

“Long Island Iced Tea, enjoy.” Placing the drink on the tiny square napkin, I let my hands fall to my hips. “The club will be out in a few minutes.” Turning, I started to walk away, meekly crawling inside myself and back into my shell.

The feelings that floated up didn't matter because I knew what would happen, I would shut down. Just like always.

“What's your name?” he asked quickly, curling his fingers around the glass.

“Why?” Don't do this again, Locke. Open up, try to give a little. Scratching my neck, I stepped back towards him. “I'm Locke.”

Reaching out, he took my hand in his and held it. “Nice to met you, Locke.” My skin buzzed as his thumb brushed over the nub on my wrist with a long swirl.

The way he said it made my head tilt into my shoulder and my eyes squint. There was a familiar ring to his voice, like we might have met before. “Do I know you?”

Thinning his lips, the corner tugged up to his ear. “I don't think so, but who knows, maybe in a past life.” Chuckling, his fingers swept down mine, loosening and finding his drink.

I wanted to smile back, I wanted to feel like maybe I was making a friend and stepping outside the box I gifted myself for years. But I didn't.

The urge to flee was too strong, it held me captive and forced me to protect myself from an unknown that probably didn't even exist.

Not everyone on this earth was evil, I knew that. But actually believing that, actually allowing someone to infiltrate my wall. . . That was a different story.

People leave you. Either by choice or by fate. I never wanted to feel that loss again, I never wanted the heartache and turmoil of rejection. It just hurt too much, I couldn't take another ounce of that pain.

“I'll go see if your food is ready.” Scampering away, I flipped through my notepad and tried to distract myself with numbers, counting up bills and tips.

Standing at the window, I kept my eyes on everything in front of me. The chef, the clock, the bus-boy washing dishes. Anything that wasn't the man at the bar.

A burning sensation raked my back, it was hot and cold, numbing my skin as he bore a hole through my spine. He was staring at me, he was watching and observing me. I didn't have to see him to know it.

Twisting over my shoulder, I tried to steal a quick glance. He caught me, smiling back and holding up his drink before taking a sip.

A flutter hit my heart, causing it to skip in place. There was something about the way he looked at me that set me at ease. His eyes were kind, his smile infectious. I liked that, I loved that.

In a city as big as this, filled to the brim with assholes and scumbags, a friendly face was a breath of fresh air.

The chef dropped the plate in the window and I grabbed it with both hands. Turning, I started towards the bar, but I stopped short.

He was gone.

What the hell?

Where did he go?

Stepping to where he had been, a twenty was folded up under the glass. Picking it up, I noticed the napkin tucked inside. Pulling the corners apart, he left me with five words.

Thanks for the drink, Cole.

* * * * *

The short walk home from work held the same feelings as my wait at the bus stop. Someone was watching me from someplace, some hidden spot, some dark shadow. Eyes were everywhere, but I couldn't find the ones set on me.

Curling my arms into my chest, I kept glancing around nervously. Every alley I passed made me anxious, every dark corner made me aware of how alone I really was. If someone reached out and grabbed me, no one would come looking for me.

I had no family, no friends, not a soul that would miss me. Except for Frito.

Picking up the pace, I reached my apartment and made my way inside as fast as I could. Frito was waiting at the door like he always was, meowing and purring in a frenzy.

Bending down, I scratched his head. “Hey, Buddy, did you miss me?” Purring louder, he rubbed his body along my legs and flopped onto his back. “Well, I'm home now.”

Standing up, I dropped my purse onto the table and grabbed a beer from the fridge. Twisting it open, I leaned against the counter and tried to relax. My nerves were still running wild, my heart was still pounding inside my chest.

Taking a deep breath, I sipped my drink and closed my eyes. He's not there, no one is there. You're safe.

Reaching into my back pocket, I pulled out the tiny napkin Cole had scribbled on. I wasn't sure why I kept it. He hadn't left me a number to call him or a way to find him again. It was just a simple note, a simple exit to a quick greeting.

Trailing one finger over the ink, I followed the thin lines, tracing each and every letter. The corner of my lip perched high, smiling from the small blip of happiness something so meaningless could bring.

This is stupid, it's not like you'll see him again.

The urge to crumple it up and throw it away made me curl my fingertips into my palm, but for some reason I couldn't bring myself to do it.

My phone buzzed from inside my purse, vibrating across the granite top. Tucking the note back into my pocket, I dug around inside my purse and pulled it out. Looking at the screen, it was a blocked number, no name, no digits.

Telemarketer. . . It's always a damn solicitation call. Sending it to voicemail, I set the phone down on the counter. But it rang again, blocked just like before.

Seriously?

Answering the phone, I was slightly annoyed that someone had the balls to call back instead of getting the hint; I didn't want to talk.

“Hello?” I snapped, ready to deliver a rash of unholy words on the poor person at the other end. No one spoke. “Hello?” I asked again.

Nothing.

“Take me off your list and don't call me again.” Hanging it up, I placed it down and took a big swig of beer.

Ring! Ring! Ring!

Side-eyeing the phone, the screen lit bright, registering with a blocked number.

Snatching it, I answered it again. “Hello?”

Silence.

“Don't call this number anymore, I'm not buying whatever the fuck you're selling!”

I didn't hang up right away, I waited and listened. Wondering if maybe it was one of those computerized voices or systems that didn't register actual conversation.

In the deep void of silence, heavy breathing cracked through like white noise. My lids shot open, chest scrunching up tight as I tried to breathe.

“Hello? Who's this?” I asked, nervously walking to my door and checking the locks.

No one said a word, just more thick, scratchy breathing.

“Don't call this number again, Asshole!” Clicking the phone off, I threw it down. Fear had started to tickle my toes, climbing up my legs and clawing through my muscles. Someone was there, and that someone didn't want to speak.

But they wanted to hear me. And I was positive they wanted me to hear them.

Staring at the phone, it lit up a fourth time, and I yelped in surprise. My hands shot to my face, covering my mouth, my eyes expanded wide like huge saucers. Grabbing my phone, I shut it off.

What the hell is going on?

Who's doing this?

I stayed up all night, watching the door and windows, waiting and listening for something to happen. I was afraid to sleep, afraid to close my eyes, fearing that he was out there, that he had finally found me after all this time.

I've moved more times than anyone I ever knew. I changed my name, I abandoned my past and tried to live a normal life. He had been locked up for years, stowed away like a rabid animal. I was told I didn't have to worry, that I didn't need to fear for my life.

I tried so hard to believe that they were right, that the police were there to keep me safe. But even repeating it over and over did nothing. It didn't save my family from what happened, the cops couldn't save us from the torture or aftermath.

It was never over—not for me.

Was it him on the other end of the phone?

Probably not.

Had he found me and was watching me from the shadows?

Unlikely.

But not thinking it was him was impossible. I lived in fear every moment of every day.

I can't live like this anymore. . .

I won't live like this anymore.