up. But the fantasy of roaring off into the night was a good one.
As the Harley growled by, he looked across the street at the Suicide Prevention Hotline's offices. Mary had missed her Friday- and Saturday-night shifts as well, and he truly hoped she was just taking a vacation. As soon as he was settled, he would go see her again and make sure she was okay.
Except… wow, he had no clue where he was going. He was assuming he'd stay in the area, but who knew? Maybe he was going far away. Just imagine that, getting out of Caldwell. God, he'd like to make a fresh start. And he could always find a way to get to Mary, even if he had to take a bus.
Two more cars and a truck went by.
It had been so easy to pull out of his pathetic existence. No one at Moe's cared that he was leaving without notice because busboys were a dime a dozen. And it went without saying that nobody in his building would miss him. Likewise, his address book was clean as a whistle, no friends, no family to call.
Actually, he didn't even have an address book. And how lame was that?
John glanced down at himself, thinking how pitiful he must look. His sneakers were so dirty, the white parts had turned gray. His clothes were clean, but the jeans were two years old, and the button-down shirt, the best one he had, looked like a Goodwill reject. He didn't even have a jacket because his parka had been stolen last week from Moe's and he was going to have to save up before he could buy another one.
He wished he looked better.
Headlights swung quickly around the corner off Trade Street and then flashed upward, as if the car's driver were stomping on the accelerator. Which was not good. In this neighborhood, anyone barrel-assing along was usually running from the cops or something worse.
John stepped behind a dented mailbox, trying to get real inconspicuous, but the black Range Rover skidded to a stop in front of him. Darkened windows. Serious chrome rims. And G-Unit was banging inside, the rap music thumping loud enough to be heard around the block.
John grabbed his suitcase and headed for his building. Even if he ran into the pale man, it would be safer inside the lobby than anywhere near the drug dealer who sported that Rover. He was hustling for the door when the music fell silent.
'You ready, son?'
John turned at the sound of Tohrment's voice. The man was coming around the hood of the car, and in the shadows he was all menace, a hulking figure that sane folks ran from.
'Son? You good to go?'
As Tohrment stepped into the weak light of a streetlamp, John's eyes latched onto the man's face. God, he'd forgotten how frightening the guy looked with that military-cut hair and that hard jaw.
Maybe this was a bad idea, John thought. A choice made out of fear of one thing that only got him deeper into another kind of trouble. He didn't even know where he was going. And kids like him could end up in the river after they got into a car like that. With a man like this.
As if he sensed John's indecision, Tohrment leaned back against the Rover and crossed his feet at the ankles.
'I don't want you to feel forced, son. But I'll tell you, my
The voice was quiet, even. Nonthreatening. But would the guy really pull out the badass if he wanted to get John in the car?
A cell phone went off. Tohrment reached inside his leather jacket and flipped it open.
'Yeah. Hey, no, I'm right here with him.' A small smile broke the line of the man's lips. 'We're thinking it over. Yeah, I'll tell him. Uh-huh. Okay. I will. Yeah, I'll do that, too. Wellsie, I… I know. Look, I didn't mean to leave it out—I won't do it again. I promise. No… Yes, I really… Uh-huh. I'm sorry,
It was the wife, John thought. And she was giving this tough guy a tongue-lashing. And the man was taking it.
'Okay. I love you. Bye.' Tohrment flipped the phone closed and put it in his pocket. When he focused on John again, he clearly respected his wife enough not to roll his eyes and make some macho, shithead comment about pesky women. 'Wellsie says she's really looking forward to meeting you. She's hoping you'll stay with us.'
Listening to his instincts, which told him Tohrment represented safety regardless of what he looked like, John humped his luggage over to the car.
'This all you have?'
John flushed and nodded.
'You got nothing to be embarrassed about, son,' Tohrment said softly. 'Not when you're with me.'
The man reached out and took the suitcase like it weighed nothing, swinging it casually into the backseat.
As Tohrment went to the driver's side, John realized he'd forgotten the bike. He tapped on the Rover's hood to get the man's attention; then he pointed to the building and held up his index finger.
'You need a minute?'
John nodded and shot upstairs to his apartment. He had his bike, and was leaving the keys on the counter, when he paused and looked around. The reality of getting away from the studio made him recognize the squalor of the place. But still, it had been his for a short while, the best he could afford with what little he had. On impulse, he took a pen out of his back pocket, opened one of the flimsy cabinets, and wrote his name and the date on the wall inside.
Then he led his bike out into the hall, shut the door, and moved quickly down the stairwell.
CHAPTER 36
'Mary? Mary, wake up. She's here.' Mary felt her shoulder get nudged, and when she opened her eyes Rhage was staring down at her. He'd changed into some kind of white outfit, long-sleeved with loose pants.
She sat up, trying to pull it together. 'Can I have a minute?'
'Absolutely.'
She went into the bathroom and rinsed off her face. With cold water dripping from her chin, she stared at her reflection. Her lover was about to drink blood. In front of her.
And that wasn't even the weirdest part. She felt inadequate because what was feeding him wasn't hers.
Not about to get pulled into that mental tailspin, she picked up a towel and dried off with a good scrub. There was no time to change out of her blue jeans and sweater. And nothing else she really wanted to wear, at any rate.
As she came out, Rhage was taking off his watch.
'You want me to hold that?' she asked, remembering the last time she'd babysat the Rolex.
He walked over and pressed the heavy weight into her palm. 'Kiss me.'
She got up on her tiptoes as he leaned down. Their mouths met for a moment.
'Come on.' He took her hand and led her out into the hall. When she looked confused, he said, 'I don't want to do it in our bedroom. That's our space.'
He took her around the balcony to another guest room. When he opened the door, they went inside together.
Mary smelled roses first and then saw the woman in the corner. Her lush body was draped in a white wraparound gown, and her strawberry-blond hair was coiled up on her head. With the low, wide neckline of the dress and the chignon, her neck was as exposed as possible.
She smiled and bowed, speaking in that unfamiliar language.
'No,' Rhage said. 'In English. We do this in English.'
'Of course, warrior.' The woman's voice was high and pure, like a songbird's call. Her eyes, pale green and lovely, lingered on Rhage's face. 'I am pleased to serve you.'
Mary shifted, trying to quell the urge to defend her turf.
