J.R. Ward the Black Dagger Brotherhood Novels 1-4 - J. R. Ward [282]
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 shellan’s cooked up a good meal, and I’m hungry. Maybe you come, you eat with us, you see the house. You can check us out. And we can even leave your stuff here. How’s that sound?”
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, leelan.”
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