Twisted Locke

by Victoria Ashley

  Twisted Locke

  Copyright © 2018 Victoria Ashley & Jenika Snow

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means such as electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise without the prior written permission of the author of this book. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Cover Designer:

  Dana Leah, Designs by Dana

  Cover model:

  Andrew Biernat

  Photographer:

  Wander Aguiar

  Editor:

  Kasi Alexander

  Interior Design & Formatting by:

  Christine Borgford, Type A Formatting

  Contents

  TWISTED LOCKE

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Epilogue

  Victoria Ashley

  Jenika Snow

  Acknowledgements

  ACE

  I place the joint between my lips and look down to see red covering my knuckles. It gets my adrenaline pumping once again, making me very aware of what happened less than five minutes ago.

  My hands are busted up, covered in blood, but I don’t feel shit.

  Nada.

  No pain and definitely no motherfucking remorse for almost taking a man’s last breath.

  This motherfucker should’ve known better than to cross an angry, homicidal Locke.

  It’s obvious he was very unaware of who was sitting across the bar from him when he decided to punch his woman in the face and then proceed to grab her by the hair and drag her across the bar as if she was a fucking ragdoll.

  The fact that he felt the need, had the fucking balls to do that in a roomful of people, told me he did even worse things to her when no one was around.

  He barely made it out the door before I was on his ass, pulling him from her and showing him what it’s like to be the fucking ragdoll.

  I wanted to make sure he knew what it felt like to be the helpless one and I have no doubt he’s still feeling it this very moment.

  It feels so fucking good to know that some son of a bitch is suffering right this very second, because they chose to make someone weaker than them suffer first.

  I’ll never get over that feeling . . . the high it brings me to crush a motherfucker even harder than they crushed someone’s world.

  To leave that permanent scar they deserve.

  I’m barely halfway through smoking my joint before I pass it to the woman beside me with the busted-up, swollen face.

  “Here. Finish that while I take care of this prick.” I slap the trunk and a twisted ass grin crosses my face when I hear a few desperate pounds come from the inside.

  He should’ve thought about his actions. If he had he wouldn’t be shoved in some stranger’s trunk like a little bitch right now.

  Good thing I decided to take the old Dynasty out of the garage tonight.

  “Are you going to kill him?” she says, the pain on her face clear as she places the joint between her busted-up lips. She takes a long hit, holding the smoke in.

  “Probably not. It depends on him.”

  My response has the noise coming from the trunk getting louder and more desperate.

  “Shut up in there you, fucking asshole!” Her whole body is shaking in anger as she slaps the trunk repeatedly. “Fuck you! I hate you! I fucking hate you so much! You’re done hurting me. Done! Do you hear me?”

  Next thing I know she falls to her knees and bursts into tears.

  There’s nothing I hate more than seeing a woman hurting and her tears are just enough to set me off again.

  “Fucking piece of shit!” I growl out, reaching into the backseat for my hammer.

  Before I can even think about what I’m doing, I’m popping the trunk and dragging the sorry motherfucker out by his neck.

  “Get up on your hands and knees.” I give him a shove in her direction. I help the woman up so she’s not kneeling any longer. “In front of her, bastard!” I yell, losing my damn patience. “Now!”

  “I’m sorry.” He looks up at me, snot covering his pathetic, beat-up face as he does what he’s told. “I’m so sorry. I promise I’ll never lay a finger on Amanda again. I swear. I fucking swear.”

  Stepping up behind him, I grab his hair and force him to look straight across so he can get a good view of the damage he did to her. “Look what the fuck you did!” I bend down beside him to make sure he’s actually looking. “Do you see the fucking damage you caused?” I slap the back of his head before grabbing his hair again and tilting his head up. “Do you?”

  “Yes,” he whines. “Yes. I see it.”

  His woman is backing up and crying so hard now that her whole body is convulsing as she attempts to catch her breath.

  “You were damn right when you said you’d never lay a finger on her again. You wanna know why, Frankie?”

  He shakes his head back and forth. “No. No. Please!”

  “Too motherfucking bad. Place your hands flat on the ground.”

  Now he’s the one shaking.

  Good. He should be.

  “Now!” I scream and kick him over when he doesn’t listen. “Be a man and get this over with, Frankie. Do this for her!” I point my hammer at Amanda, who still looks scared shitless at him being near her.

  From the old bruises on her face and arms, it looks as though he’s been hurting her for a while now. This shit ends here and now.

  “It’s either going to be your hands or . . .” I place my hammer to the back of his skull, which has him immediately splaying his hands out on the ground in front of him.

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck . . .” he cries to himself, while squeezing his eyes shut. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry . . .”

  “Well, I’m not.”

  Gripping my hammer, I take one hard swing at his right hand, hearing the bones crack as he screams out in pain.

  I barely give him a moment to really feel the pain before I take a swing at his left hand, causing him to scream out again before he falls over and begins crying.

  Keeping my eyes on him, I reach for a smoke and place it between my lips before bending down beside him. “Just be lucky you’re not fucking dead. You’ll heal.”

  He doesn’t say anything and from the excruciating pain he’s clearly in, I don’t expect him to be able to.

  I take a few seconds to enjoy my handiwork before I pat his back and walk over to check on Amanda.

  She almost looks relieved as she watches him suffer on the ground, as I’m sure she’s done plenty of times since she’s met this piece of shit.

  “I should take him to the emergency room.” Her voice is void o
f any emotion. “He may be hurting for a while.”

  I honestly don’t give a fuck if he writhes in pain on the ground, but Amanda seems worried, and I feel for her. If this will make her feel better, getting this piece of shit to a doctor, then so be it.

  “Yeah,” I say between drags. “Pull your car up and I’ll shove him into the backseat.”

  She backs up, keeping her eyes on Frankie the whole time. “Yeah . . . okay. I’ll be right back.”

  A black ’95 Corvette pulls up a few moments later and I can’t help but to laugh to myself. He’s going to be real comfortable shoved into the backseat of that thing.

  Not my problem and not my damn concern.

  “Come on, asshole.” I flick my cigarette across the mostly empty parking lot and reach underneath Frankie’s arms to lift him to his feet.

  Amanda already has the car door open and the seat pushed forward, so I give him a shove toward the car and stuff him into the backseat.

  It may seem a little fucking twisted, but I get pleasure from hearing him whine and cry like a little bitch.

  I guess that’s why I’m the twisted one.

  Hurting others brings me pleasure and I’m the first one to admit that I enjoy doing what we do.

  It’s because of me that my brothers are the way they are. All it took was years of abuse from our sorry ass excuse for parents and seeing the secret lifestyle that our uncle Killian lived.

  I did this. I brought my brothers into this lifestyle and twisted is what I do best . . .

  MELISSA

  A text comes through from Kadence asking me to bring her the leftover scones and muffins when the coffee shop closes for the night.

  If we don’t take them home, then they just end up getting thrown away, so I send her a quick text to let her know that I’ll bring the leftovers home with me.

  I’m just about to shove my phone back into my pocket when it vibrates in my hand with another message from my sometimes roommate.

  Kadence: Bring them to Aston’s. I’m already over there.

  Kadence: Pleeeeease . . .

  I huff and put my phone away without bothering to respond to her message. She’s knows I’m still not very comfortable with going to the Locke house, yet it seems she always finds a reason for me to show up there.

  What she doesn’t know, though, is that I’m attracted to the oldest Locke. The most twisted one of them all, the more I see him, the more I’m drawn to him physically.

  I’ve been doing everything in my power to make sure I don’t fall for a Locke when I’ve spent the last four years fearing them.

  When Kadence fell for the youngest Locke I was against it and wanted nothing more than to keep her away from Aston.

  I’ll admit I’ve softened up toward them over time, but I still don’t quite understand their violence and that part scares me.

  Especially Ace.

  He’s vicious and mysterious in ways that his brothers aren’t, yet when I look at him I feel as if I’ll melt into a puddle at his feet.

  Ace has this power to make me want to fall at my knees with just one glance into his amber eyes.

  I’ve never met a man so dangerously sexy in my entire life and a part of me is unsure if I can stop myself from falling for him if I keep getting sucked into being around him.

  Releasing a deep breath, I lean over to clean off a table, but freeze when I glance out the window to see Ace standing across the street, leaning against his truck.

  He’s got a cigarette between his lips and I can’t help but stare at his mouth as he takes a drag from it.

  His gaze is trained on the building but I can’t tell whether or not he can see me watching him. It has my heart beating at an alarming rate, but I can’t seem to pull my gaze from him.

  He’s dressed in a snug white T-shirt and a pair of black jeans that fit his body to perfection. I hate that he’s impossible to turn away from and I hate that he’s so physically flawless.

  “Too bad a man so incredibly sexy has to have such a bad reputation.”

  I pull out of my haze at the sound of Gia’s voice. I hadn’t even noticed she was standing beside me until now.

  “It’s weird that he’s just standing there, staring at the building, right?” I glance beside me to see her staring out the window as she speaks. “He’s the oldest one? What’s his name . . .”

  “Ace,” I say on a whisper before she’s able to finish thinking. “And yes; he’s the oldest one.”

  A small smile tugs at the edges of Ace’s lips before he flicks his cigarette across the street and jumps into his truck.

  “I heard that he once cut a guy’s finger off and force fed it to him,” Gia says, watching as he drives away. “That’s some crazy stuff. I can’t believe that Kadence dates one of those guys. I’d be terrified.”

  “They’re not that bad,” I say on a swallow. “It’s not like they go out and just hurt random innocents. They have reasoning behind everything they do.”

  I’m not sure who I’m trying to convince that the Lockes aren’t what they seem, Gia or myself.

  The only reason I choose to still be cautious is because I know I have to in order to keep Ace at a safe distance.

  “Then maybe it’s not so bad that the oldest one is hanging around.” She smiles and turns away from the window. “Maybe he’ll come in next time. I’d love to see that one up close. He’s absolutely gorgeous and terrifying at the same time.”

  The idea that Gia is attracted to Ace for some reason bothers me. It’s stupid for me to feel this way.

  “Maybe,” I say, wiping off the table. “I have a few things to take care of in the back and then I’m going to take off. Do you need help with anything first?”

  Gia is the owners’ daughter and she’s been coming in almost daily for the last few months. I have a feeling it’s because she’ll be taking over the coffee shop soon so that Cheryl and Bryon can retire.

  “No, I don’t think so. We’ll be lucky to get one, maybe two more customers stopping by so I should be good to handle things.”

  “Sounds good.”

  After cleaning up in the back and organizing things for tomorrow, I pack up some leftover pastries and jump into my car, hoping that maybe Ace won’t be around when I drop these off to Kadence.

  After seeing him already once today, I’m not sure I can handle seeing him for a second time and not end up spending the rest of the night thinking about him.

  It’s something I’ve been doing a lot lately and the last thing I need is to keep the habit going.

  I need to be strong when it comes to the oldest Locke.

  I’m just not sure for how much longer I can manage that . . .

  ACE

  I place a joint between my lips and watch as the asshole before me struggles to get out of the ropes.

  His attempts are only making the rope tighter, digging into his already bloodied wrists even more. I know how to tie a fucking knot, and his struggles only have me grinning. He won’t be able to get out of it unless I fucking want him to.

  “Take it easy,” I finally say and glance down at his wallet, “Troy Foster. You keep pulling at those ropes and you’re going to lose your hands.”

  Hell, keep pulling at those ropes. Give me more entertainment tonight.

  He struggles to scream at me, but with the tape wrapped around his mouth, nothing but muffled sounds come out. Tears are coming out of the corner of his eyes, his face is red as a fucking beet, and I can see snot starting to slip out of his nose. The fucker isn’t used to this. He wants out, no doubt. He probably wants at me with all that rage. I should just let him go, should just let him get a punch or two in so that I can feel that pain then really go fucking psycho on his ass.

  He mumbles something again, his eyes narrowed, the anger coming from him clear.

  “What was that?” I kick away from the garage door and walk over to yank his head back. “I couldn’t understand you.” I push his head down and take a long hit off the joint before yankin
g his head back again and blowing the smoke in his eyes.

  He squints and struggles harder.

  “You know . . .” I pull the knife from my boot and run it along his skin as I walk around him. “I’m not sure what to do with you yet. You see . . . I don’t like the idea of some stranger coming to my motherfucking house in the middle of the night with a gun.”

  I stop in front of him and tug on his wrists, which are tied above him. His scream is muffled behind the tape as the ropes dig further into his skin, causing blood to drip down his arms.

  “I could kill you to make sure that you’re never a threat to my family again.”

  My threat has him struggling against the ropes again, clearly desperate to get away—or maybe to get to me—no matter how much pain he’s currently in.

  I tilt my head and watch as he shakes his head and attempts to scream.

  “Or . . . or I could just chop both your hands off so you can never hold a gun again, never pick a lock, hell,” I chuckle, “open a fucking door handle again.” I stare at him in the eyes. “I haven’t quite decided yet which route I should go, though.”

  I scowl deeper, letting him know how serious I am. This asshole really has no clue who he’s fucked with.

  King caught him on the side of the house last night and dragged him down by his foot from the window he was attempting to climb into.

  He tore into his leg pretty good before I was able to run outside and see what was going on.

  The piece of shit pulled a pistol on me. Aimed that shit right at my head, but King attacked his arm before he could manage to get a shot off.

  This asshole fucking almost shot at me. Could’ve shot at my family and now he’s going to pay the price.

  Just thinking about it has me wanting to rip his throat out with my bare hands.

  With an angry growl, I take my blade and run it down his cheek, watching as the blood drips from the wound.

  I’m already covered in his blood as it is, due to the beating I gave him thirty minutes ago after returning from the coffee shop.

  I needed something to hold me back from killing this motherfucker tonight, and seeing Melissa always seems to calm the demons inside my head just long enough to get me thinking clearly.