Under Locke

by Zapata, Mariana

  In hindsight, I should have just gone to the back and lived with a tongue lashing from Dex for simply living so that I could order supplies for the month instead of staying in the front, talking to a customer’s girlfriend about getting her nose pierced. But I didn’t. In my quest to keep being a bitch because my feelings had been hurt, I stayed up front.

  Mistake? Uh, yeah.

  ~ * ~ *

  “Sweetie.”

  I looked over at the man standing in front of the reception desk. A man with a full beard and glassy, red-rimmed eyes, who smelled like rubbing alcohol. It was disgusting and it made my nose burn.

  But this was my job and everyone had been nice up until then, so I didn’t think anything of it. “Yes?”

  “Need to get a tat.”

  I gave him a little smile without looking at the appointment log. Even if both Slim and Blake weren't busy and Dex had come out from the back, he still couldn't get tattooed. Whoops. "I'm sorry, but we can't help you if you've been drinking.”

  “Sweetie, I need a tat. Now,” the guy slurred, smacking his lips so roughly spittle flew out.

  Gross. The smell of alcohol got even stronger. Yuck.

  I cringed a little. “I'm sorry but we really can't—,” I tried to explain to him.

  Alcohol Cologne grunted. “Get Dex.”

  “Dex isn’t scheduled right now.”

  “Sweetie, get Dex.”

  Oh boy.

  I took a deep breath and nodded, pushing away from my chair. “Let me see if I can get him.” Years of mottos that highlighted “The customer is always right” was engraved into me. The music was so loud it wasn’t a surprise that Blake and Slim didn’t hear what was going on. They blasted it. Metal and heavy rock pounded through the speakers most nights after seven.

  The office door was closed when I came up to it, but I couldn’t hear anything from inside. I knocked a couple of times but there was no response. The light from the bathroom was on, and I wasn’t about to go bother a man when he was on the toilet regardless of whether it was my asshole boss or not. Toilet time was personal time, I thought.

  “Dex isn’t available right now,” I started to tell the guy who, with another look over confirmed that he was blitzed out of his mind. “But if you wait a few minutes, I’ll try to get him to talk—“

  He snapped.

  I wasn’t a drinker, and the couple of friends I’d had in passing weren’t much either. They were occasional drunks. Funny drunks. Silly drunks. Loving drunks. I was okay with that. But a mean drunk was something I couldn’t handle at all.

  “Look, bitch, I don’t have time! Get fucking Dex right now before I—“

  The arm swiped at my waist from out of nowhere. Way too distracted, I realized it was Dex who had an arm wrapped around me, pulling me to his side. His fingers clenched the material of my cardigan.

  I couldn’t see his face but I didn’t need to.

  Dex The Dick was pissed. Enraged. I half expected him to shed his clothes and turn into a green skinned monster ten times his current—already tall and broad—size.

  His wide shoulders were tense and the big man, well over six feet tall, seemed even more intimidating then. I think everyone could sense that unsettling dangerous mist of pissed off biker in their bones.

  “Rick,” was the only thing he grunted out.

  Alcohol Cologne sensed that raw, crazy energy too because he took a step back. His face, as red as a lobster’s cooked shell when he’d been yelling, blanched.

  “I was looking for you, bro,” the man exhaled.

  Dex pinched my cardigan between his fingers. “Get out.”

  “Dex—“

  His shoulders stiffened beneath the bright white t-shirt he had on. “Rick. Get. The. Fuck. Out.”

  “But—“

  His hand squeezed my shirt so tightly it made me lean forward as he yelled, “Get the fuck out! Now!”

  Holy shit.

  Rick took on a shade of white formerly only seen on a sheet of college ruled paper, throwing up both his hands. “Dex—“

  Dex let go of my sweater taking a step toward the drunken fart. “You know damn well you don’t come into my shop demandin' shit, callin' my girl a bitch.”

  In the words of a rap song my neighbor used to play on his boombox when I was a kid: Hold up, wait a minute.

  He closed the distance between them, making me ignore the fact he'd just called me his girl. I swear Dex grew three inches taller as he lifted his hands and pressed them to the drunk guy’s chest. “Get the fuck out before I do something you’re gonna regret,” Dex notified him, shoving the man back so hard I’m surprised he didn’t hit the glass.

  The guy stumbled, righting himself slowly after one last withered plea. “Dex.”

  All he got in return was silence. Heavy, electric silence.

  Rick opened his mouth to say something else before thinking twice and turning around to walk out. As soon as the door swung shut, it was like a rubber band of intensity snapped in the room. My heart was pounding from the sheer volume of the words that were tossed around.

  I was so stuck in my own little world that I didn’t sense Dex’s presence inches away from me until his fingertips were on my chin, tilting my face up.

  “You okay?” he whispered, so close I could feel his warm breath on my nose.

  My hands shook. I swallowed hard and nodded a partial lie. “Yeah.”

  Dex’s gaze flickered over my eyes, nose, mouth, and even throat. His expression was soft. He reached up to circle one of my free hands in his, his features tightening as my fingers trembled in his palm. “Your pulse is poundin', babe.”

  “I’m fine.” Being freaked out fell into the same category as being fine. As long as I hadn't peed on myself, then I could still be fine.

  He didn’t speak as he pulled on the hand he was then holding, leading me toward the hallway. In a daze, I noticed that Blake and Slim looked worried as I passed by them, and I tried my best to give them a smile but it was shaky. It felt like I'd just gotten off a roller coaster.

  Dex shook his head on the walk passed his office, passed the private rooms, clasping my hand even tighter as he pulled us into the break room.

  “Come here, Ritz,” he ordered, stopping us right next to the kitchen counter. Before I realized what was happening, his hands were on my hips and he was settling me on top of the counter. Dex’s palms grazed my knees as he stepped back to the soda vending machine in the corner. “Wait a sec.”

  Like I could go anywhere, but I sat there silently, sliding my hands under my thighs so that I wouldn’t feel them twitching anymore. He pulled out a bill from his wallet and put the money into the machine, getting a Coke in return. Holding it in one hand, he moved to the opposite end of the long counter and started fishing through the overhead cabinets. He pulled out a loaf of bread, withdrawing two slices before retying the knot and stashing it back into its hiding spot.

  I wasn’t sure what the heck was going on. I couldn’t help watching him tenderly hold the slices in one hand and the Coke can in the other as he walked toward me, stopping so close his hip brushed against the side of my thigh.

  “Here.” Dex tried to hand me one of the slices, setting the soda down between us.

  “What?” I was looking at the seeds in the bread.

  “Eat it, babe.” He held the piece of bread up higher.

  I shook my head, darting my eyes back up to his. “I’m not hungry.”

  Dex lifted the slice even higher so that it was in line with my mouth. “I don’t care if you’re not hungry. It’ll calm you down.”

  The urge to argue with him was right there but by the look he gave me, a hard, uncompromising glare, I figured it was useless. That wasn’t the right moment to pick a fight with him. I plucked the bread from his hand and ate it slowly, watching him out of the corner of my eye the entire time. As soon as I finished, he was handing me the second slice. I gave him another look but got the same no-nonsense glare in return.

 
So I ate it because otherwise, he'd probably shove it down my throat by force.

  He watched until I had about a quarter of it left, when he then popped the lid on the soda and handed it to me the minute I swallowed the last bite of nutty bread.

  “I should've kicked his fuckin' ass for talkin' to you like that,” he murmured when I was taking my first sip of Coke.

  It was a miracle I didn’t cough it up. Hadn't he talked to me like I was stupid at least three times before this moment? I know that I must have had a what-the-hell face plastered because the expression on his face darkened.

  All right, maybe I wouldn't point out how much of a hypocrite he was.

  Even if Sonny had said he was harmless, that didn't mean his words were anything that resembled soft and caring. He was probably just dealing with me out of guilt. Whatever.

  “It’s okay,” I warbled out.

  “No, it’s not.” He ducked his head close, eyes searching mine again. “He scare you?”

  I sucked in a ragged breath, sensing for the first time that my heart wasn’t pounding as forcefully as it had been at first. “He caught me off guard,” I breathed out. Two men making me feel like a piece of crap in less than a week must have been a world record.

  Dex tensed up before shifting his body over so that he stood in front of me, placing his hands on either side of my legs. He stayed quiet for the longest, his eyes flashing a multitude of emotions I couldn’t recognize under a tightly controlled mask. For a split second I wished I would have known him better to understand what was going through his brain, but as quickly as the urge came, it left.

  Breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth consciously the entire time until he scratched the tip of his nose. “It won’t happen again.”

  There was no way he could promise that to me. No way. But that magnetic, hot violence was still rolling off his shoulders and chest, caging me in even more so than his upper body physically was.

  “I’ll talk to Rick, have him apologize, babe. I don’t need you bein’ scared. He’s a lousy drunk.”

  I gave him a slow one-shouldered shrug, looking away. His breathing was noisy as I thought about how nice he’d just been, standing in front of me when his friend started yelling, trying to get me to calm down. But I didn’t get it. Just days ago, he was losing his flipping mind. Last week he’d been trying to kick me out. I didn’t get it and it made me feel uncomfortable and confused.

  “I’m okay now,” I whispered.

  He didn’t move or say anything.

  I shifted forward on the counter, wiggling my bottom so that it was teetering over the edge but Dex was too close, and I couldn’t hop off completely without pressing myself fully against him. “I want to get down now.”

  Of course he didn’t move. “Sit a little longer.”

  “I’m fine,” I insisted, fighting the urge to look up at his face.

  One of his hands slid onto my knee. Even over the thick material of my brown pants, it was searing hot. Or at least it was like my blood flow had redirected itself to that one point under my skin. Damn you, traitorous body. “Iris, why won’t you look at me?”

  Oh hell.

  His voice took on that milky, smooth, deep tone that made me feel like a book of matches had been lit inside my gut, and the way he said my name… Ef. Me. I didn’t even think he knew my name. He hadn’t used it once the entire time I’d been working at Pins.

  “I just want to get down,” I told him, glancing down at his hand.

  Dex squeezed my thigh. “You can get down after you tell me why you still won’t look me in the face.”

  I insisted. “Please.”

  “No.”

  “I want to get down.”

  He squeezed me again. “No.”

  “Let me down.”

  “No.”

  Oh shit. Annoyed as hell, I tilted my head up at him. “One minute you're kind of a fucking jerk—," did I just drop the f-bomb again? Why, yes, yes, I had. "Then the next minute you’re carrying me to my room and sharing your secret stash of bread with me. It doesn't make sense,” I said honestly. "I don't want to look at you because you hurt my feelings, okay? I don't know what to think."

  And he just blinked. “That it?”

  My head dropped back so I could look at the ceiling. Was this guy for real?

  “Ritz, c’mon. That’s why you won’t look at me? 'Cause I talk outta my ass?” The questions were so casual it was like he was asking whether I wanted ranch dressing on my salad or Italian. So annoying.

  “That's not enough?" I might have wailed my words a little.

  This asshole started chuckling. “Don’t get so pissed.” The pads of his fingers brushed a line from my thigh down to my knee in an intimate, delicate gesture that was at odds with the man I’d met a week ago. “I told you it was a mistake. How many more times do you want me to say I’m sorry?”

  I gave him a flat look which he returned to me with round, curious eyes. “I know. But you called me an idiot all because I asked you for help on my second day. Who does that?" The truth was, maybe I was an idiot. Because a smart person would have shut their mouth and accepted the forced apology, but there I was, my mouth still running. “The last time anyone called me a fucking-something was three years ago when I bought the last television on sale at Walmart on Black Friday for my little brother. But you know what? I didn’t care then.” The but I care now was implied in spades.

  Dex’s thick lashes fluttered closed as he let out a whoosh of air from his lungs. He looked pained. Dex didn’t seem like the type of man who was used to apologizing to anyone. The expression seemed so rough and foreign coming from him, it was like trying to shove a square shaped object through a round hole. “Babe, I’m sorry.” Those pretty blue eyes opened, focusing on mine. “I just...say shit."

  "You just say shit?" I repeated.

  Oh boy.

  I blinked in his features. His long, dark eyelashes, deep set eyes, magnificent square jaw, that nearly perfect nose—Dex The Dick was unbelievably handsome. And I was making him feel like shit for not forgiving him when it truly seemed like he was remorseful. In what might be the first time in his life with the way he expressed it.

  "Yeah." It was a statement, a fact. "You're MC, you gotta have thicker skin than that to survive here, you hear me?"

  God, grant me strength.

  "My dad was a Widow. Sonny's a Widow. I'm not," I explained to him calmly. "I can't just grow a thick skin overnight."

  It was his turn to blink. "Yeah, you can." He blinked again. "Who gives a fuck what I say? Tell me if you got a problem. Don't run off and tell Son that I'm treatin' you like shit, and hide your fuckin' face from me because you're hurt over me bein' a dumbass. Tell me. Maybe you don't have a thick skin but I do. I can take it."

  Like it was that easy.

  I sighed and closed both of my eyes, annoyed with myself for having kept the job when I didn't really want to, all because of circumstances. Circumstances that, as always, revolved around money. Crap.

  I sighed again.

  Wasn't it easy to just be nice out of the kindness of his heart instead of bullied into it?

  I almost laughed. Like Dex could be bullied into something. I'd known him a few days and I already knew he was immovable.

  "Don't get all emo on my ass." He nudged my knee with his hip. "Tell me you got a problem."

  I couldn't. I just couldn't.

  The risk of losing this friggin' job that I wasn't even that fond of yet was too high. If he got pissed off about me asking for help, how pissed would he be if I told him to quit being a dick? Despite the fact that my brother had told me to do the same thing Dex was implying...I wasn’t positive that I really had it in me.

  “Babe, I’m not gonna have an issue tellin’ somebody that they’re pissin’ me off,” he stated.

  No shit.

  He nudged my knee with his hip again. “Say it.”

  “Say what?” I asked slowly.

  “Say what you
’re thinkin’,” Dex explained.

  I shook my head.

  His eyebrows knit together in exasperated patience. “Call me a dick. An asshole. A shit. Whatever you want, just get it out, Ritz.”

  The look on my face was probably half horrified, half nervous that he’d said the one nickname I usually called him in my head. “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because that’s rude.”