Beneath the Scars (Masters of the Shadowlands #13)(35)

But his father’d stared at him like he was…a cockroach or something. And he’d whispered, real mean, “I don’t fucking believe this. You’re not my kid. Get away from here, you little bastard,” and slammed the door. As Carson’d stood there, staring at the closed door, he’d heard the guy tell the lady, “Just some homeless bum, darling.”

His dad was a dick.

Swallowing hard, Carson kicked a soda can and listened to it clang down the sidewalk. He’d hoped his dad would be happy to find he had a son. Would…like him.

Mom was really awesome—some kids had horrible mothers—but most of his friends had dads, too. And their fathers would hang with them and watch football or shoot some hoops. Sure, his mom and dad wouldn’t, like, get together or anything, but it would’ve been nice to have a dad. Sometimes. To visit or something.

More tears made his eyes burn, and he blinked them back. I want to be home. Home and curled under the covers…where he could cry.

The noise of traffic increased. The nice houses were behind him, and he was close to another big street. Dale something or whatever. It was all parking lots and most of the stores were closed and dark.

Creepy.

Skin prickling, he walked faster, feeling…small.

Even as he thought that, a big guy came out of a dark parking lot and onto the sidewalk. He had a shaved head, a straggly beard, and missing teeth. “Yo. You lost, brat?”

Carson stopped, retreated a step, and turned to run the other way. He rammed right into another man, and the guy grabbed Carson’s arm in a painful, biting grip.

“Got him.” The guy had red and blue tats from wrists to shoulders—and he stank.

“Let me go!” Heart pounding, Carson kicked at the man. “Let me—”

The man slapped him.

Fiery pain burst in Carson’s cheek. He cringed.

The man spun Carson around and put his forearm across Carson’s throat. “Shut your trap, or I’ll shut it for you.”

Carson’s yell strangled along with his air. He couldn’t breathe.

The bald guy with the beard shoved his hands into Carson’s pockets, searching him. “No fucking wallet?”

“How about a phone?” the tatted man asked.

“Nope. Got shit.” Baldy stepped back.

“Wha’d’ya wanna do with him?”

“Pretty boy like this? I can think of—”

Carson kicked Baldy hard in the knee, frantically scratching at the arm across his throat.

A white car screeched to a stop at the curb.

The tatted creep holding Carson jerked around. He didn’t let go, despite Carson’s kicking and scratching.

The driver of the car sprang out and charged straight for Carson. Holy shit, it was their neighbor, Holt.

Carson tried to call out and couldn’t.

“Get the fuck out of here, asshole.” Baldy stepped in between them.

Holt ducked a swing, grabbed Baldy, and heaved him at a parked car so hard the man went headfirst over the hood.

The tatted guy holding Carson gave an ugly grunt, and his arm across Carson’s neck loosened.

Carson ripped himself loose and scrambled toward Holt who pulled him up against his side.

“Easy, buddy.” Holt pulled him closer. “Fight’s over.”

But…the other guy. “What about…” Carson spun around.

Hand to his head, the tatted guy was on his knees, swaying like he’d fall over. Blood poured through his fingers.

Mom…Carson’s mom…stood behind the man, a broken, bloody chunk of concrete in her hand. She tossed it away and held out her hand to Carson. “Oh, honey.”

“Mo-om!” Carson lunged across the space, buried himself in her arms…and cried.

*

Safe, her baby was safe.

Josie was shaking so hard that it took a minute to realize her son was trembling even more. He held her as if he’d never let her go—and dear heavens, he hadn’t cried like this in years.

Pulling in a breath, she realized they stood in a dreadful part of town at night, easy targets for someone to… She frantically looked for Carson’s attackers, but they’d disappeared. Then she spotted Holt.

Big and muscular, black leather jacket, black boots, bearded. Steely gaze alert, he radiated menace, even as he leaned against her car and spoke on his cell phone.

God, she was glad he’d come with her.

Call finished, he shoved the phone in his pocket. He never stopped scanning the area as he opened the back door and told her, “I called off the search party and reported the attack. Let’s get you two home.”

“C’mon, honey. Let’s go.” Arm around her son, Josie tucked him into the back seat and hesitated.

“Stay beside him, Josie.” Holt helped her in beside her boy.

After putting the bike in the trunk, Holt slid into the driver’s seat and glanced in the rear view mirror. “Buckle up, you two.”

In the middle seat, Carson didn’t move. Josie buckled his seat belt and fastened her own before wrapping her arms around him.

Safe, safe, safe.

“That guy called me a pretty boy,” Carson finally whispered. “I kicked him.”

“I saw that,” Holt said. “It was a good kick, ace.”