Under Locke

by Zapata, Mariana

  An exasperated sigh made its way out of his pretty mouth. “Cute?” he said the word like he was torn between being disgusted and amused, ignoring my other comment.

  All right, I could pretend too. “Excuse me, you’re a hot, virile, stud-muffin.”

  He pinned me with a flat look that made me laugh.

  “What? You are.” When his facial expression didn’t change for a long minute, I laughed again and poked him in the side. I wasn’t going to let my dad and his disappearance plummet my mood. He wouldn’t have that much power over me. And I definitely wasn’t going to take it out on the one person that was here trying to help me, no siree. “Fine, you’re just hot. Smoking hot. Not cute. Definitely not cute at all.”

  Dex gave me that signature little smile before returning his attention to his plate. We took a few bites of our food before he finally spoke again. “You know there’s nothin’ and nobody you gotta worry about, Ritz.”

  Here we go. I nodded but didn’t look at him. “I believe you.” I just didn’t want to carry around this fear that Dex would eventually get bored. He wasn’t my father, and every day I knew him better and better, that fact was cemented in place more firmly.

  He plucked the fork from my hand before pulling it beneath the counter of the diner, setting it palm down right next to his groin. “Babe, you got me as much as I got you, and that shit’s not changin’, you understand? Not today, tomorrow, not ever.” He slid his hand over mine, cupping it firmly to the shape of his thigh. “Got it?”

  “Dex,” I sighed.

  “Ritz.”

  “You can’t say stuff like that. You might get tired of me at some point.”

  “No.” He shook his head. “I know exactly what I’m sayin’. I know exactly what I mean. Yeah?”

  He wasn’t really asking, I knew that. So I also knew it was pointless to argue with him, and at the same time, it was pointless to make excuses as to why he couldn’t care for me like that. I’d never know unless I let him. I squeezed his thigh and nodded. “Yeah, I got it.” For good measure, I smiled. “Cutie.”

  “Ritz,” he groaned, but I could tell by the look in his eye he didn’t care.

  “Just kidding.” Taking my hand off his leg, I cut a neat triangle out of my blueberry pancakes before muttering under my breath, “Not really.”

  That got a snort out of him.

  The younger waitress that had been harassing Dex before made an appearance right then at a table on the opposite side of the diner. So I took the opportunity to make Dex laugh again. I think I enjoyed the sound way too much. “Dex?”

  “Yeah, baby?”

  “She’s back,” I whispered, and then paused. “I think I’m going to need your keys.”

  And as always, he didn’t disappoint me with the loud, loud laugh that burst out of my reserved, broody man.

  ~ * ~ *

  Three days passed and nothing.

  No trace of him.

  That son of a friggin' gun had disappeared and my irritation had reached a level never before seen courtesy of my short-lived period. That's how pissed off and stressed I was—my period had lasted half the time it normally did.

  "We'll find him," Dex had assured me about a dozen times a day.

  The problem was that it was incredibly hard to hold out hope of finding a man that excelled at disappearing. We'd met with Luther's friend the day before but the older man hadn't seen him either. Luckily for me and everyone else, the normally moody man that drove us from Delray to Boca to Deerfield Beach, was optimistic enough for the both of us.

  There's no way he knew we were in Florida, of that I was certain. Luther's friend had promised us he'd been discreet, so it just had to be a coincidence he'd gone somewhere else.

  At least that's what I really hoped.

  ~ * ~ *

  "Never heard of 'im," the older biker drawled from over the rim of his highball glass, drinking something that was all amber and no ice.

  I felt like a balloon that had gotten stabbed with a needle. Deflated. Completely deflated.

  Dex shot me a look before extending his hand out to the crazy bearded man. "Thanks, brother."

  Another bust. Again. How many was that today? Eight different bars in and around Hollywood? Who the hell even knew there was that many kind of bars here?

  I shook the man's hand just like Dex had, and followed him back out. The man had been the last of the three we'd made an effort to zero in on at the bar. Follow his lead, he'd said, and I had. But we were coming up with nothing. Four days in my home state and nothing.

  This sucked.

  The moment I'd climbed into the truck and shut the door, Dex cut me a glance before reaching over to grab my hand. "You feel like doin' somethin’ else?"

  I was too old to pout and cry about how unfair this crap was, so instead, I threaded my fingers through Dex's and sighed. I want to find my dad. But that wasn't happening. This entire trip had so far been a dead end. No dad. Painful memories. And food from places I'd gone to with Will hundreds of times that suddenly didn't seem anywhere near as delicious as they had months before.

  All this driving around did was make me miss my mom and yia-yia more. That was probably what led me to open my mouth and suggest something for the first time since we'd started our search.

  It was still early in the day. Only about six, so there should have been an hour of sunlight left...

  "Do you mind if we go to the cemetery?" I asked Dex hesitantly.

  "Why the hell would I mind, babe?" he asked, already putting the truck into reverse. "Tell me how to get there."

  The cemetery was pretty close to where we were at. It seemed like I'd just been there yesterday. I didn't need a map or directions to instruct Dex on where to go. In no time, he was pulling into the long, winding drive through the grounds.

  Until he wasn't.

  He parked the truck along the ultra familiar drive. I could recognize the slight slope of the grounds even if I were blind. I got out and looked around, watching as Dex climbed out as well, his eyes wary and uncomfortable as they flitted over tombstone and tombstone.

  "Are you okay?" I asked him after he'd taken a long gulp. He didn't look well.

  "Yeah," was his simple answer.

  Was he...uncomfortable? From what I could remember, his grandfather had died when he was a baby. All of his family members seemed to still be kicking, so the only thing I could come up with was that cemeteries freaked him out. There was nothing wrong with that.

  But I kept my mouth shut and appreciated the gesture instead. "You can stay if you want, I won't be long," I told him,

  Those dark eyes narrowed in suspicion. "You sure?"

  I could see it on his face. Please be sure.

  "Yeah, it's fine. Fifteen minutes tops."

  It took him a second to agree but once he'd fed me a nod, I blew him a smile and started making my way toward the large tree that served as a marker to where my mom and yia-yia were buried together.

  Months had done nothing to the lush grasses or the classy tombstones that my grandmother had paid for years in advance of her death. She had never found anything ironic about planning for her passing before she was even close to the day. I found the spot almost immediately, taking in the side by side headstones beckoning me forward.

  In some sweet, romantic movie, there would be flowers from my dad on the grave with promises of love that could survive an apocalypse. Of a love that had no value for time and no understanding of death.

  But there wasn't.

  Not a weed. Not a live flower. Not even a dead flower. Or an old love note.

  Nothing. Nada. Zilch. Grass and more perfectly manicured grass.

  To say that it was disappointing would be the understatement of the week. Then again, what did I expect from a reigning disappointment of a human being?

  I should know better.

  It was almost an afterthought lowering myself to my knees when I came up to my mom and yia-yia's grave. Sweet but incredibly bitter. How many
times had I sat here in the years after yia-yia had died asking for her moral and mental help with Will? Dozens?

  Raising a brother was hard. It had always been hard, but after yia-yia died, it got even more difficult. Yet, somehow we'd found a way.

  My hands brushed over the sticky green blades, feeling how closely cropped they were. Immaculate and untrodden. I suddenly wished, more than the hope of finding my dad, that I'd have either one of them around to tell me what I should do with this situation.

  I wanted their guidance. Their suggestions. Their support.

  And all I had was this damn grass.

  I wasn't nervous or afraid. I was desperate. What should I do? Give up? Sell my car? Try to get a loan? Start a murder-for-hire business?

  Quitting wasn't a part of my DNA. Being forced to submit was but it was also a last resort. I'd always thought of myself as being practical.

  I had no idea how long I sat there, looking at the etched names with a heavy soul. It couldn't have been that long if the sun was still out—low but it was there. Tired emotionally rather than physically, I got up and made my way back to the car to find Dex sitting in the bed with an unlit cigarette in his mouth. His eyes made a slow path over me as I got closer, checking and inspecting.

  Dex stood up, throwing a long leg over the tail bed. With a graceful hop, he dropped to the ground, tucking his cigarette behind his ear.

  Neither one of us said anything as I walked over to him and slipped my arms around his waist. Dex wrapped an arm over the top of my shoulders, his free hand finding its way into my hair. I took a hesitant sniff of his shirt, but all he did was smell faintly like soap and laundry detergent.

  "You don't have to quit smoking because of me," I told him though obviously I'd rather he did, but I wouldn't ask him to.

  He twisted my hair around his fingers. "'Kay."

  "I'm serious."

  He kept twisting knots at the end of my ponytail. "Went five years without a smoke, babe," he whispered into my ear, his lower lip brushing the shell. "There's shit I want and shit I need. A smoke's not one of 'em, 'specially not when I'm around you."

  Was it wrong that his words made me swoon a little? And that I wasn't even going to bother arguing with him more about it?

  Going up to the tips of my toes, I pressed my lips against the underside of his chin. "In that case, thank you." I pressed my face to his chest for a moment, savoring the hug.

  "You doin' all right?"

  I nodded enough so that the top of my head brushed his chin. "Yeah. I just miss them."

  Dex hummed in his throat, his arms tightening around me in response to my comment. His body, his heat, his comfort, and safety, saturated me. The feel of him fed the parts of me that were needy and that grounded me. It wasn't that anyone or anything could ever replace the two women who had raised me, but Dex was so much man and personality, that I realized I wasn't alone anymore.

  And as selfish as it was, I hoped I wouldn't be alone ever again.

  I squeezed his waist. "Since we're here and all, want to go to my favorite pizza place? Sonny used to say they made the best pepperoni."

  “I like pizza.” A hand slid down the curve of my spine until I felt a strong pinch on my bottom. "What are you gonna eat? Cheese?" he snickered.

  "Spinach alfredo, smart ass." I snorted and took a step away from him, rubbing where he'd gotten me.

  Dex wrinkled his nose but made his way around me, swatting my rear when he had the chance. "Spinach alfredo it is, babe," he said.

  I got into the truck after him, smiling like a moron. I was in the middle of thinking all about magical thin crust delicacies as Dex steered us out of the cemetery. For some reason, just as we were stopping at the gates, I happened to look across the street. There was one of those pay-per-hour motels on the corner.

  "Left or right?" Dex asked.

  It was supposed to be a left but something had me zeroing in on the hooker hostel. "Right." Worse case was, we could circle around and head back in the same direction, right?

  Dex turned right.

  I craned my head to look into the parking lot. What would I really find? Nothing, more than likely.

  And I didn't, at first at least. Cars and trucks. Then I saw the handlebar. It could have been anyone's but what if it wasn't? It couldn't be that obvious...

  I reached over to slap Dex's arm. "Pull in there, please."

  That wonderful man didn't even bother asking why I wanted him to turn into the lot. Swinging the truck to a hard left, he drove the pickup into the two-story motel's parking lot. Up close now, the bike was like a kick to the sternum.

  It was still shiny, black with a coil of red shot through the body. Almost a decade later, I still recognized it like the back of my hand. Torn between the memories of being a kid and climbing all over it when it'd been parked in the driveway, and the last memory I had of my dad riding away immediately after Mom's funeral, a frog curled in my throat.

  "It's him."

  The tires squealed as he slammed down on the brakes. Dex didn't even bother pulling into a spot before parking behind two cars in the lot. I was out of the truck before him, looking at all of the doors like I had some type of internal radar that let me know which room he was in.

  "Lemme go find out where he's at," Dex murmured with a squeeze to my forearm.

  Uhh...

  Yeah, maybe I didn't want to know how he was planning on getting that information.

  I stood there as he walked in the direction of the tiny office by the parking lot's entrance. Looking, looking, looking. In less than five minutes Dex's loose gait had him standing next to me.

  I took a deep breath to steady my nerves and tipped my head up, trying to be confident. "Is the employee still alive?"

  He smirked, the corner of his mouth arching up so high those pretty white teeth flashed at me. He tugged on the hem of my shirt. "Alive and fingers intact, babe."

  "Smart ass." Not laughing was impossible. I held up my hand for a high-five. Dex shook his head with a chuckle and slapped it, linking our fingers together afterward.

  "Let's go."

  I wrapped my free hand around the inside of his elbow, taking confidence in the dark tattoos on his arms. They reminded me of Pins, and my friends there. Safety. Familiarity. Tattoos were Dex. My friend. My protector.

  "Let's do this," I agreed.

  Up the stairs we went. Down the hallway. A turn to the right.

  And we stopped.

  Dex held up a hand to knock on the door but I stopped him by grabbing his wrist. I ducked my head and pressed my lips to his thumb, sucking a breath to steady myself. Dex was watching me with those dark, steady eyes—curious.

  "Thank you for coming with me," I whispered.

  His nostrils flared, and he nodded briskly.

  I knocked but no one answered immediately.

  I knocked again, this time harder.

  Still nothing.

  I knocked even harder, faster, more annoyingly persistent.

  Still, nothing.

  Dex leaned over me, pounding his fist against the door. "Open the fuckin' door," he growled.

  Oh hell.

  Six foot three and bossy? As long as it wasn't directed at me, it made my ovaries sing an opera.

  The lock turning was the only thing that pulled me from my Dex-fantasies. For some reason, I suddenly wondered whether my dad still had facial hair or not.

  It was just like a movie in slow motion.

  The door opening.

  The dark hotel room.

  The expectation.

  At the door, a woman stood in a t-shirt three sizes too large. A woman that was possibly only a decade older than me.

  "Uh, can I help you?"

  If he was in there, I was going to kill him. I decided that immediately.

  I ignored the woman in front of me and looked over my shoulder at my dark-haired Dex. I wasn't going to have a panic attack or turn into a rabid raccoon with him behind me, that was for sure. "Are you sure
this is his room?"

  All he needed to do was nod before a confidence and a rage I wasn't extremely familiar with, flooded my stomach.

  Fuck this.