The Omega had taken him to places inside of himself that he'd been shocked to find he had. Places of fear and self-loathing. Of utter humiliation and degradation. And now, in the aftermath, he felt as if he had no skin, as if he were totally open and exposed, a raw laceration that just happened to be breathing.
The door opened. Mr. X's shoulders filled the frame. "How are we doing?"
O covered himself with a blanket and then opened his mouth. Nothing came out. He coughed a few times. "I... made it."
"I was hoping you would."
For O, it was difficult to see the man dressed in regular clothes, holding a clipboard, looking as if he were ready to start another productive workday. Compared to where O had spent the last twenty-four hours, the normalcy seemed fake and vaguely threatening.
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 not to dwell on Dr. Delia Croce tonight.
Mary thought of topiaries and smiled a little, just as a harried waitress came up to the table. The woman put down a plastic glass of water, spilling some.
"You waiting for someone?"
"Yes, I am."
"You want a drink?"
"This is fine. Thanks."
As the waitress took off, Mary sipped the water, tasted metal, and pushed the glass away. Out of the corner of her eye she caught a flurry of movement at the front door.
Holy... Wow.
A man had walked into the restaurant. A really, really... very fine man.
He was blond. Movie-star beautiful. And monumental in a black leather trench coat. His shoulders were broad as the door he'd come through, his legs so long he was taller than anyone in the place. And as he strode through the knot of people at the entrance, the other men looked down or away or at their watches, as if they knew they couldn't measure up to what he had going on.
Mary frowned, feeling like she'd seen him somewhere before.
Yeah, it's called the big screen, she told herself. Maybe there was a movie being shot here in town.
The man stepped up to the hostess and ran his eyes over the woman as if trying her on for size. The redhead blinked up at him in stunned disbelief, but then clearly her estrogen receptors came to the rescue. She pulled her hair forward, as if she wanted to make sure he noticed the stuff, and then kicked out her hip as if she'd popped the thing out of joint.
Don't worry, Mary thought. He sees you, honey.
As the two of them started coming through the restaurant, the man surveyed every table, and Mary wondered who he was eating with.
Aha. Two booths away there was a blonde seated alone. Her fuzzy blue sweater was skintight, the angora shrink-wrap showing off a dazzling display of assets. And the woman was radiating anticipation as she watched him come through the restaurant.
Bingo. Ken and Barbie.
Well, not really Ken. As the guy walked along, there was something about him that wasn't WASPy handsome in spite of his amazing looks. Something... animalistic. He just didn't carry himself as other people did.
Actually, he moved like a predator, thick shoulders rolling with his gait, head turning, scanning. She had the discomforting sense that if he wanted to, he could wipe out everyone in the place with his bare hands.
Calling on her willpower, Mary forced herself to stare into her water glass. She didn't want to be like all the other gawking fools.
Oh, hell, she had to look up again.
He'd bypassed the blonde and was standing in front of a brunette directly across the aisle. The woman was smiling broadly. Which seemed only reasonable.
"Hey," he said.
Well, what do you know. Voice was spectacular, too. A deep, resonant drawl.
"Hi, yourself."
The man's tone sharpened. "You are not Mary."
Mary tensed. Oh, no.
"I'll be anyone you want."
"I'm looking for Mary Luce."
Oh... shit.
Mary cleared her throat, wishing she were anywhere else, anyone else. "I'm... ah, I'm Mary."
The man turned around. As vivid, teal blue eyes bored into her, his big body stiffened.
Mary looked down quickly, jabbing the straw into her water.
Not what you were expecting, am I? she thought
As silence stretched out clearly he was searching for a socially acceptable excuse to cut and run.
God, how could Bella have humiliated her like this?
Rhage stopped breathing and just took the human in. Oh, she was lovely. Nothing he'd expected, but lovely nonetheless.
Her skin was pale and smooth, like fine ivory stationery. The bones of her face were equally delicate, her jaw a graceful arch running from her ears to her chin, her cheeks high and tinted with a natural blush. Her neck was long and slender, like her hands and probably her legs. Her deep brown hair was pulled back into a ponytail.