J.R. Ward the Black Dagger Brotherhood Novels 1-4 - J. R. Ward [193]
Mr. X smiled a little. “So, you and I are going to strike a deal. You get in line and stay there, and that won’t happen again.”
O was too exhausted to argue. The fight in him would come back—he knew it would—but right now all he wanted was soap and hot water. And some time alone.
“What do you say to me?” Mr. X demanded.
“Yes, sensei.” O didn’t care what he had to do, what he had to say. He just had to get away from the bed…the room…the cabin.
“There are some clothes in the closet. You good enough to drive?”
“Yeah. Yeah…I’m fine.”
O pictured the shower at his house, all creamy tile and white grout. Clean. So very clean. And he would be, too, when he got out of it.
“I want you to do yourself a favor, Mr. O. When you go about your work, remember what all that felt like. Call it up, keep it fresh in your mind, and take it out on your subjects. I may be irritated by your initiative, but I would despise you if you went soft on me. Are we clear?”
“Yes, sensei.”
Mr. X turned away, but then glanced over his shoulder. “I think I know why the Omega let you survive. As he left, he was quite complimentary. I know he’d like to see you again. Shall I tell him you’d welcome his visits?”
O made a strangled sound. He couldn’t help it.
Mr. X laughed softly. “Perhaps not.”
Chapter Eleven
Mary parked in the TGI Friday’s lot. Looking around at the cars and minivans, she wondered how the hell she’d agreed to meet some man for dinner. Close as she could recall, Bella had phoned and talked her into it this morning, but damned if she could remember any of the particulars.
Then again, she wasn’t retaining much. Tomorrow morning she was going to the doctor’s for the follow-up, and with that hanging over her, she was in a daze. Take last night, for instance. She could have sworn she went somewhere with John and Bella, except the evening was a total black hole. Work was the same. She’d gone through the motions at the law office today, making simple mistakes and staring into space.
As she got out of the Civic, she tightened herself up mentally as best she could. She owed the poor man she was meeting an effort to be alert, but other than that, she didn’t feel any pressure. She’d made it clear to Bella this was friends only. Split the check. Nice to meet you; see you later.
Which would have been her attitude even if she hadn’t been distracted by the whole Russian-roulette medical lottery hanging over her head. Aside from the fact that she might be sick again, she was way out of practice with the whole dating thing and not looking to get back in shape. Who needed the drama? Most single guys in their early thirties were still looking for fun or they would have been married already, and she was the antifun, buzz-kill type. Serious by nature, with some hard-core experience.
And she didn’t look like a party, either. The unremarkable hair growing out of her head was pulled back tight and cinched in a scrunchie. The creamy Irish knit sweater she had on was baggy and warm. Her khakis were comfortable, and her flats were brown and scuffed at the toes. She probably looked like the mother she would never be.
When she walked into the restaurant, she found the hostess and was led to a booth in the back corner. As she put her purse down, she smelled green peppers and onions and looked up. A waitress whipped by with a sizzling iron plate.
The restaurant was busy, a great cacophony rising up from all the life in the place. While waiters danced around with trays of steaming food or piles of used dishes, families and couples and groups of friends laughed, talked, argued. The mad chaos struck her as more awesome than ordinary, and sitting by herself she felt utterly separate, a poser among the real people.
They all had happy futures. She had…more doctor’s appointments to go to.
With a curse, she clipped her emotions into place, trimming off the panic and catastrophizing, leaving behind nothing but a resolve