He handed me a towel. “I’d tell you to lock the door better—I could’ve been anyone barging in here. But I’m less worried about that than I was.”
I wrapped the towel around my wet body, trying not to gauge his mood. If he was angry that I’d ended Priest, I didn’t know what to do with that. “I still need you.”
Locke caught the ends of the towel and secured them with an efficiency no man had any business possessing.
“Not for that,” I clarified.
He smirked a little, those sea-green eyes crinkling at the sides. “Then what?”
“Everything I needed you for before.”
Locke made a low sound in the back of his throat. For a moment, I thought he was going to kiss me, but he slid his big hand along my jaw instead. “Get dry. I want to show you something.”
Something outside, apparently, and not here. I dried off and dressed, weaving my damp hair into a thick plait. Then we rode out, him out front, me hugging his slipstream.
No one followed us, and to my knowledge, our bikes still weren’t tracked. We were alone. Me, Locke, and the frosty open road, and it was so close to perfect. As we left King territory behind and crept into Crow land, the only thing missing was Nash.
Crow turf.It had been years since I’d been this far east in the county. The landscape was unfamiliar, but it didn’t bother me. I had Locke. He had me. Even without Nash, I felt untouchable.
It was an hour before Locke slowed his Dyna to a gradual stop by an old gate.
I pulled up behind him and shut my engine off, dismounting with a wince. Menstrual cramps combined with a game of deathly cat and mouse through the woods had left me sore.
Locke steadied me, moving with more ease than he had since he’d come home to us. “Did I hurt you last night?”
When we’d held him down and ravaged him? Not even close. But I knew what he was concerned about. That his big dick had been too much for me. As if he’d ever be out of his mind enough to let it be. “You didn’t hurt me.” I said the words in case he needed to hear them. “I got my period.”
Locke moved closer, his palm sliding over my hip. “How is it?”
“Settling in.” I leaned into his touch. “Ask me tomorrow.”
Locke scanned our surroundings, like he always did when we breached the outside world together. “I grew up here.”
“Literally here?”
“Our house was over there.” He gripped my shoulders and rotated me, pointing to a small town beyond where we stood at the foot of Hill Farm. “Saltmouth. Shithole.”
“It’s pretty,” I lied.
Locke snorted. “No, it isn’t, but if it helps, me and Logan were conceived on Woodbury Common. Walk with me?”
I took his outstretched hand and we climbed the gate, treading the frosty path into the woods, like regular folk taking a stroll on a Sunday afternoon.
Locke’s hand was warm in mine. Solid. Like he’d always been, even when he’d felt fragile enough to run from us. Was he okay now? I wasn’t naïve enough to believe that killing Priest had fixed everything for him, but he seemed, I don’t know, better? Maybe?
Or maybe it was me who felt better. Like I had when Alexei had killed Frank Crow and Drummer, ending a generation of men who’d brought nothing but violence and pain to my life. A new breed had followed, but closure didn’t always mean the end.
Locke’s pace slowed. He pointed with his free hand. “My baby girl’s initials are carved into that weeping willow.”
“A willow for Willow? That’s original.”
“They aren’t Willow’s initials.”
I stopped walking. “What?”
Locke turned to me, his face cast in shadow from the heavy branches above us. “Willow’s my rainbow baby. Me and Kara lost Wren first, at 22 weeks.”
“I’m so sorry.” Emotion burned my eyes. “I didn’t know that.”