Lock – Skye R Richmond

It wasn’t that narrow, but my body still went rigid with nerves. Lock’s hand came up—not touching me, but close, like he was ready if I slipped. “Use the ladder,” I whispered, nodding toward the slim metal rung tucked under the balcony rail. “It folds down.” Lock’s eyes narrowed. “What ladder?” I reached under the edge of the balcony and found the small latch by feel. It clicked, and the ladder swung down silently, stopping just above the ground. Lock stared at it like it had personally offended him.

“Your dad put that in?” I snorted quietly. “No. He’d triple-bolt the windows if he could. This was already here…old building thing. He meant to have it removed, but… he never got around to it.” Lock muttered something sharp under his breath. “And you knew it worked.” “Yeah.” I kept my voice low. “My uncle helped me tighten the bolts once.

Dad doesn’t know about that part.” Lock turned his head slowly toward me, his pale blue eyes giving me a look I couldn’t even begin to describe. “You’ve climbed down this before.” I shrugged, heat crawling up my neck. “Only a few times.” He stared another beat, jaw tight. “You’re full of surprises,” he muttered. “Move.” I pulled the latch, the ladder dropped soundlessly, and I climbed down fast, my hands cold on the metal.

My hoodie bunched at my back, and the air hit the strip of skin between my shirt and waistband. I didn’t want to think about whether Lock could see. Boots landed behind me a second later. “Stay close,” he murmured. I didn’t get a chance to argue. He grabbed my hand—his fingers closing around my wrist, firm but not painful—and tugged me forward, we made our way through the compound staying in the shadows and the side of the house.

The trees swallowed us quickly. My breath fogged in the cold night and there was a part of me that wanted to scream, but then I couldn’t seem to make myself. Which was insane! Halfway through the yard, I tripped over a root. His hand tightened, steadying me before I even fully stumbled. “Watch your step,” he muttered. “Hard to do when you’re dragging me,” I whispered back. “Would you rather I carry you?” he asked without looking back. Absolutely not. “Keep going,” I mumbled. We broke into the clearing near the fence⁠— And I froze.

Two guards lay on the ground near the breach in the metal. Unmoving. I stumbled back on instinct. “Oh my god—Lock⁠—” “They’re alive,” he said immediately. “Just out.” “But—” “They deserved worse,” he said flatly. “Leaving you this unprotected? Anyone could’ve walked in tonight.” Okay woah… that was a weird thing to say. “You walked in tonight.” “Exactly. If I could, someone else could. I just got here first.”

By the time the ice cubes started to melt, I knew I’d been standing there way too long, staring at nothing like an idiot. The glass was sweating all over the counter, leaving a wet ring I wiped up with the side of my hand. I blew out a breath. “He already agreed… everything is fine.” So why couldn’t I shake the pit in my belly that I would be trapped in this place forever?

My feet curled against the cold kitchen tile, and I looked around yeah… the place had seen better days. The cabinets didn’t close right, the fridge hummed like it was dying, and everything smelled a little like coffee, grease, and leather. Home sweet home, I guess. Well—home or cage, depending on the day. Most mornings lately, I tried to pretend it was just…

normal. Wake up, brew coffee, check my email from the clinic, go over my start-date paperwork and daydream about spending my time with kids and parents instead of bikers… That job felt like my one ticket to something that was mine, something that wasn’t stamped with REAPERS in big block letters. I set the iced tea on the tray, right next to the sandwich I’d stacked just the way my dad liked it, thick cut bread I made yesterday, with thick slices of roast beef, sharp cheddar, extra pickles, mustard on both sides of the bread.

And I added the little plate of cookies I’d baked earlier in the day because apparently graduating college hadn’t broken me of the habit of stress-baking. “Yep,” I muttered. “Straight-up bribery.” Dad—Wrecker—wasn’t the easiest guy to sweet-talk on a good day. And lately? Good days were definitely in short supply.

Something had been brewing in the club for weeks, and everyone felt it. I could feel the tension from the common room. There was no music… No dumb arguments about pool. Just quiet voices, everyone felt the tension even when they didn’t know what it meant. And it was the kind of quiet that made the back of my neck tingle.

On a regular afternoon, there’d be music leaking down the hall from Reapers’ Roadhouse, someone swearing about a busted carb at the shop, Razor yelling at a prospect to sweep the same spot for the third time. Today, it just sounded… wrong. Like the whole compound was waiting for a the other shoe to drop.

Before I could talk myself out of it I grabbed the tray before I changed my mind and pushed open the kitchen door with my shoulder.

This is a short excerpt from the opening of “” by Unknown, quoted for review and introduction purposes. All rights belong to the copyright holders.

Book Information

• Unique ID: 4991d619ddbbc4b5
• File Extension: .pdf
• File Size: 627,650 bytes (0.599 MB)
• Title: –
• Author: Unknown
• Pages: 88
• Language: English (en)

Reading & Word Statistics

• Estimated Reading Time: 126.58 minutes
• Total Words: 25,316
• Total Characters: 139,582
• Average Words per Page: 287.68
• Average Characters per Page: 1586.16

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