Disclaimer: I don't own them. I don't really remember who they do belong to, but it's not me.

Notes: This is an old story. I've been trying to finish it. If you've read it at the yahoo groups that I belong to or at the web site I had it posted to great! If you've never read it before enjoy. I really only write Tommy related stuff so that's the focus of this story.

Rating: PG-13 to R for language and violence

Author: Little Wing
So far, so good. Tom Malloy thought as he walked toward his older brother's house. His loose-fitting clothes hugging his lean muscular frame as a strong wind caught him off guard. He stopped for a moment to regain his bearings, zipping his light gray jacket the rest of the way up he continued on his way. He could feel the storm coming, and he hoped that Trent and Carlos would not be caught in the path of it.

A tremor of excitement wove its way through him. He was on his own for the first time in his life. No one there telling him what to do or watching over his shoulder to make sure he was doing what he was supposed to. He liked that. But then there was the weight of trust that bore down upon him like lightening. Trent trusted him to not only take care of a couple of classes at the dojo while he and Carlos were on a rare vacation, camping somewhere, but also to stay in his house without being a normal teenager and having a blow out party. And his mother trusted him to stay out of trouble. His mother had been the coolest about him staying behind to handle the dojo. Trent had been so worried about Tom staying on his own that he had called a couple of times to make sure everything was going all right.

But now, as he ended his second day alone, he felt good and nothing had gone wrong. Nothing major any way. He had to cancel one class due to the fact that nearly everyone in the class had a fairly bad cold, but other than that, everything was fine. He was looking forward to another night of quiet and a date with the television. He kind of liked the quiet.

As he rounded the corner to the street of Trent's house, he could have sworn that he saw someone following him in the reflection of a window on a near by car. Shaking his head and laughing at himself, he kept going. I hang around Carlos way too much. He scolded himself. There was no one following him. Whoever he had seen was just someone out walking home or to the store or whatever it was that that person was out doing. Tom knew that, but it still did not shake the feeling he'd had all day. Something had felt amiss to him all day; he could feel it deep in the pit of his stomach. Pushing the thought from his mind he stopped on do the front porch of the house.

One hand pushed through his dark blond locks while the other fished around the pocket of his baggy jeans for the keys to the front door. After a few seconds his fingers grasped the ring the keys called home and hulled them out of the comfort of his pocket. He quickly flipped to the front door key, slipping it into the lock, giving it a sharp quick turn he let himself in. As he began to enter the house, he again caught a glimpse of someone reflected in glass, but this time the reflection came from the front window of the house. This time he could not shake the feeling that someone had followed him, nor could he laugh it off as paranoia caused by spending too much time with his big brother's best friend. Tom knew someone had followed him, and that bothered him greatly.

If I can get inside and shut the door maybe, maybe whoever's there will go away. He thought as he moved to get inside. Just as he made it through the threshold of the cherry wood door, he felt it; the icy touch of his instinct having been correct. Tom stopped where he stood when he felt a hard object being pressed into the small of his back. His hand still rested on the brass knob of the door, a small detail that the assailant either chose to ignore or never even noticed. Reacting, instead of thinking, Tom tightened his grip on the door knob and then pulled the door back toward himself and his assailant. In the process Tom had managed to turn himself around so he was facing his attacker. The look of surprise that was etched on the man's small round face, filled Tom's mind and he smiled.

The smile that played across Tom's slightly pale pink lips dropped off suddenly when something hit him square in the back, doubling him over with a grimace of pain and surprise burning itself across his handsome features. Coughing, Tom pushed himself up to his knees. He watched in horror as the man with the small round face came at him with a set scowl. Somewhere Tom heard what sounded like a door closing, while right there in front of him all he could hear was the angry growl of the man he'd hit with the door. Quickly and with no words, save for a few grunts and groans, the man with the small round face dove a fist, clad in black leather, into Tom's chest.

Whoosh! Tom could hear the air escape his lungs. Breathless and ready to topple over, Tom caught the movement of a black leather hand moving rapidly toward him. Before he could even react the hand caught him square in the cheek, sending his head sharply backwards, splitting his lip. Tom moved as if he were in slow motion, carefully wiping the blood from the corner of his mouth, righting himself so that he was once again seated on his knees. Venomously he stared at the man who'd hit him. The man stared back with satisfaction beaming in his eyes and dripping from his smile. Tom's mouth opened to speak, but no sound would come out. The man staring at him, the one with the small round face, laughed at Tom's loss for words.

Trying to regain his breath, Tom looked around to see how many people were there. Over the shoulder of the man with the small round face, he saw a man with a narrow face and a dark complexion, making him look like someone Tom would not want to meet up with in a lit alley let alone a dark one. And in the kitchen there was a man, not much older than himself, with light-coloured hair and a strangely round-square face. The one in the kitchen seemed to be jumpy, as if he expected the bogeyman to come through the door at any moment, while the one with the narrow dark face seemed too indifferent Tom's liking. But the one with the small round face appeared to be enjoying himself, maybe just a little too much.

"That's not him," the kid in the kitchen said, pacing in the doorway as if he were facing a firing squad.

"Did you just figure that out?" The man with the narrow dark face said, crossing the span of the living in three long strides to slap the jumpy kid up side the head.

"Knock it off!" The man with the small round face said, tearing his attention from Tom to prevent his men from fighting.

Quietly, Tom watched as the men seemed to stop noticing he was even there. Taking advantage of their error, Tom moved as quietly and as quickly as he could to get off the floor. Moving swiftly he went for the front door, carefully turning the knob he yanked the door open. Without any pause he slammed the screen door open and started to run. The keys to the dojo were still safely tucked away in his other pocket, if he could make it there he could call for help; or at least hide out for a while.

A thick wind scraped through his sandy blond hair as he ran down the street. The wind once again pressing his clothes against his body. He could feel the rain that was threatening to pour down at almost any moment. Please, please, please. He chanted in head as he ran. Behind him he could hear the shouts of the three men as they realized he had fled. He really didn't care what it was they wanted, whom they wanted or what they were wanted for; all he wanted was to get away from them. Taking a chance, Tom looked behind him to see only two of the men desperately trying to catch up to him. A smile began to play across his face and he wanted to laugh at them, but he knew it was too early to celebrate. Willing his legs to move faster, Tom rounded the next corner and collided with something hard and blocking the way. Taking a couple of steps back he looked up, and into the face of the narrow dark man's. The man smiled, as Tom's near triumphant smile faded and fear registered in the youth's handsome face.

"Going somewhere, cowboy?" His tone was harsh and definitely not friendly. Ferociously the man turned Tom around to face the direction he had just come. Placing an arm around Tom's shoulders he lead the young man back toward Trent's house. Nearly half way back to the house the other two men caught up to Tom and their friend. The three traded smiles as Tom scowled at them.

"Nice try, kid," the round faced man murmured, turning to head back to the house.

****

So much for nothing bad happening. Tom thought as he was shoved through the front door, nearly crashing to the floor he was scarcely able to catch himself against the wall. He could hardly believe his luck. Pressing his back so that it was flat against the cool wall, Tom watched the round faced man throw the small jumpy blond man into the couch, while the narrow dark faced man kept a careful eye on Tom. None of the men had touched him since they had returned to the house, nor had any of them said a word to him.

"You need to get your damn head together, Andy." Tom heard the round faced man yell at the short blond.

Frightened, Tom watched as the round faced man crossed the living room to where he stood with his back pressed tightly against the wall. The slightly smaller man smiled at the fear he seemed to inflict upon his hostage. But there was something else burning in the grey-blue eyes of the averaged height young man who had pressed himself flat against the wall. For a moment a look of confusion clouded the man's face as he stared hard at Tom. What was it that was burning in those deep eyes? Of course, anger was burning in the eyes of his hostage. A smile crept across the round faced man's pale thin lips as he realized that Tom was more than just afraid; he was angry.

"You're not who we want." He watched Tom, as though he were a bug under a magnifying glass, for a reaction to what he had said. Tom showed nothing, not one sign of relief. "I see that offers no relief for you." He moved closer to Tom.

"If I'm not who you want, then why chase after me?" Tom challenged the man, moving defiantly away from the wall, inching his way toward the staircase to his right. The man stopped in mid-stride and shot Tom a look that was an odd mixture of disbelief and frustrated anger. Seeing his chance to keep them off guard, Tom said, "Way I see it, you need me. So, I am the one you want." He continued to inch his way toward the stairs. He was nearly there, just a few more inches and he'd be able to get up the stairs to what he hoped would be an escape route. "What are you guys planning on using me for?" Just a little farther and he could make a run for it. "Who is it you really want?"

Not waiting for the answer Tom turned and sprinted up the stairs, skipping steps. Hearing their shock at what he had just done, Tom smiled, but kept going. He knew anytime he took to stop and see how far behind him they were, would cost him precious seconds in his get away. Moving quickly, he headed straight for Trent's room. Closing the door behind him with a loud crash and locking it quickly he moved to the window. Pushing open the window he leaned out, and tried to find the best way to the ground that didn't involve breaking something like his neck.

Outside the clouded windy afternoon was gone. Replaced, instead, by dark rain clouds, blanketing the blue sky rather than dotting it, bringing dusk early to the late spring day. Thick drops of rain poured from the sky instead of the bright sun, soaking the earth and anything that happened to be caught out in it. Through the rain Tom could see the slant of the roof over the back porch. Knowing it would be a tricky climb in the rain, Tom scrambled out the window. Carefully scaling along the thin edge of the roof he lowered himself down to the roof of the porch. Crouching there he could hear the shouts of his captors.

"Get out the back door!" Tom heard the one with the small round face yell. "You get that damn door open!"

Great. Just great. Tom thought wryly as he sat silently on the porch roof, waiting for his chance to climb down and make his get away.

Back up in Trent's room, he heard the door give way; probably under the weight of the tall dark narrow faced one. Tom watched the window, praying he was not very visible, as a head popped out. The eyes of the head narrowed and then snapped open wide when they spotted Tom perched on the roof above the back door. He was.

"He's on the roof!" the narrow faced man shouted into the house, disappearing from the window.
Crap. He saw me. Tom's mind screamed as he began to move down the roof. Using all the physical strength he had, Tom lowered himself down until there was about three feet between him and the ground. Being careful to not make too much noise, he let go of the roof ledge and dropped to the wood of the back porch with a hollow thud. Forcing his over stressed muscles to work, he moved off the porch. Ducking along the side of the house, he heard the screen door creak open. The foot steps were heavy on the wood of the porch. Closer, they were coming closer to where he was. Holding his breath Tom pressed his body, soaked clothes and all, against the wooden paneling of the house.

The foot falls slowly moved away from where he was to the other side of the porch. With a barely audible hiss, Tom let out the breath he'd been holding. Hearing the foot steps falling on the other side of the porch, he carefully began to inch his way along the side of the house. His rain drenched hair was matted to his head and falling in his eyes. Scared, frustrated and angered, Tom ran a hand of thin fingers through his wet main, swearing under his breath. Breathing deep he moved cautiously away from the side of the house. Moving slow and careful Tom made his way toward the front of the house, all too aware of the shouts from the men who were chasing him.

Click. The sharp unmistakable sound of the hammer of a gun being cocked assaulted Tom's ears; followed by a cold , hard pressure on the back of his neck. Tom's world stopped, as did his heart, and a shiver shot through him like a NASCAR around a track, when he realized what it was. Careful not to move too quickly, Tom brought his hands into view. Dropping his chin to his chest, Tom turned slowly to face the gunman. It was the jumpy kid with the light coloured hair. The one that had been called Andy.

"Move." Andy motioned toward the house with the gun, angrily pushing his long rain soaked blond locks out of his face.

"Why're you doing this?" Tom asked, as he moved past the nervous young man.

"Get inside." Andy was doing his best to be hard and unforgiving; it wasn't going all that well. Pulling out guns and kidnaping people always made him nervous, but the other two got off on it. They seemed to enjoy whatever thrill it was they got from killing a little too much. That little fact was due in part to the fact that none of their victims ever survived, and they were never anywhere near town when the police came looking. "Move it." He gave Tom a hard shove up the back steps.

"So, who is it I'm the bait for?" He turned his head to see Andy behind him, as he was half pushed through the back door.

"Shut up." Andy gave Tom another hard shove, nearly bowling the teen over.

Fast as he could Tom shot out his hands to catch himself on the kitchen counter after Andy's last shove. For someone who was so jumpy about being there, Andy certainly was not afraid to get a little rough with the victims. Generally, though, he stayed out of the killing. He hated killing, he left that for the other two. But shoving them around was something he'd do willingly; it gave the mousey man a chance to prove how much fear he could inflict and how he could not care less about the people he was helping to hold up.

"Look at what the storm blew in," the man with the dark narrow face said to the man with the small round face.

"Good job, Andy," Jon praised with a bite of sarcasm, as he approached Andy and Tom's position just outside the kitchen. "Twice in one night." He looked Tom over, as though he were a leg of lamb roasted to perfection and ready to devour. "He taught you well."

"Guess it was the guns," Tom said, defiantly staring Jon in the eyes. "They make me a bit shy." A small bead of rain mixed with sweat dripped down his forehead and rolled off the end of his nose.

"I'll have to keep that in mind." Jon, an angry smirk twisting his face more than it already looked, moved closer to Tom. Tom watched the man's every move with a seemingly sick fascination of what the man, Jon, might try to do to him next. Tom braced himself for the coming backhand or punch when he saw Jon's hand shooting toward him. Instead of a fist connecting with his face or the back of a hand knocking his head back, Jon wrapped his leather clad hand in the rain saturated cotton of Tom's dark coloured tee shirt. For a moment, surprise streaked through Tom. That moment of surprise was all his captor needed to yank the slightly taller youth off his feet. "You're a lot of trouble," he spat at Tom.

"Yeah?" Tom raised an eyebrow in question of Jon. "Well, you're no peach either." Tom beamed at the smaller man.

With a loud cry of anger, Jon ran Tom hard into the wall. Tom grunted as the air was sucked from his lungs. Straining to regain his breath, Tom sagged against the wall; Jon being the only thing keeping him from finishing his decent to the floor. Satisfied with Tom's speechlessness, Jon leaned in close to his ear.

"Behave yourself and you might just survive the night." With nothing to say and not much breath left in him, Tom raised his head to level his grey-blue eyes at the man. Defiantly Tom showed his captor no fear, only cold sharp edges. "Try to run again. . ."

"And you'll what?" Tom challenged, making mental notes of the buttons he was pushing. He knew that pissing them off was not the wisest thing he'd ever done, but a weakness was a weakness.

"Try it and find out." Jon shoved him into the wall again, letting go this time. With very little air left in his already burning lungs, Tom sank to his knees on the hardness of the linoleum kitchen floor. Resting his hands on his knees, Tom did his best to pull in long smooth breaths. Silently Jon knelt down in front of Tom, watching the teen's every move, waiting for him to do something.

"Always pick on people half your age?" Tom asked after he'd managed to catch his breath, looking up to stare the intruder in the eye.

Jon snorted a laugh at Tom, smirking. Almost quicker than a lightening strike, Jon's gloved hand reached out and connected with Tom's cheek, sending the youth's head back sharply. His rain and sweat saturated hair showering little droplets at the intruders. A satisfying grunt escaped the teen's lips as the surprise of the blow carried him back. Reacting quickly Tom shot a hand back to catch himself with and stop the inertia that was sending him cascading back; his finger tips barely catching on the linoleum. Pushing himself back so he was once again seated on his knees, Tom gingerly touched his cheek; already bright red in colour and rapidly threatening to turn purple. Carefully his fingers moved on to check for blood on his lips and nose. A small drop of blood formed on the corner of his already split lip, swelling the area to a more noticeable size. Slowly he became aware the one called Jon was still knelt down in front of him. Rolling his eyes up to look Jon directly in the eye, Tom put away as much fear as he could.

"You will regret this later." Tom kept his voice low and filled it with as much venom as possible.

Sneering at the youth Jon rose to his feet."Michael, take him and find some dryer clothes. Break something, other than his neck, if tries to run again."

A wicked smiled etched on his thin almost red lips, Michael walked over to the space on the floor Tom was occupying. He reached for Tom's muscular arm with a slender hand and nearly boney fingers. Tom winced when Michael's thin fingers wrapped around the flesh of his upper arm; His thin bone like fingers dug into Tom's skin. His thin, frail hands were stronger than Tom would have ever guessed. In a quick motion Michael hulled Tom to his feet, pulling him toward the stairs that had, only mere moments before, served as his escape route.

"Where do you keep your clothes?" Michael yanked him up the steps.

"First door on the right at the top of the stairs, next to the bathroom." Tom could feel the bruises forming beneath Michael's crushing grip. They're gonna pay for this. Tom brooded as Michael dragged him across the hall, and tossed him hard into Trent's spare bedroom. Tom crashed to the floor, striking his right elbow and shoulder into the hardwood floor. Hissing in pain, he pushed himself up from the floor and glared at the taller man.
***

There's got to be a way to escape. Tom thought, sullenly watching his captors while surveying the room. He knew the room well, better than them, but there was no way to get their guard down not after three attempted escapes. There was no other way for Tom to put it to himself, he was trapped. The punch he got after the first attempt was nothing compared to the one he got after the last attempt. Tom was all too aware that his lip was swollen where it had been split, and he could feel the bruises forming on his arm where Michael had placed his bone like fingers. Then there was his elbow. No question about it, his elbow was purple and blue already and most definitely jammed. He highly doubted the small one, Andy, would really kill him, but Tom knew Michael and Jon wouldn't think twice about it.

"You planning another daring escape?" Jon asked, kneeling next to the chair Tom had been placed in. Saying nothing, Tom gave Jon a look of pure defiance. "You think you're a real tough little shit, huh?" He grabbed Tom by the hair on the back of his neck and pulled the teen close into his own face.

"You have no idea," Tom hissed keeping his eyes locked on Jon's, trying to keep the fear away. Inside, Tom was surprised he had been able to keep his voice level, low and as menacing as possible.

"Don't tempt me to find out if you're really as tough as you seem to think you are." He tightened his grip on Tom's hair. A look of disappointment crossed Jon's face when Tom only cringed at the pain.

"I know how much of a bad ass I am, do you?" Tom challenged the man. Tom knew he was tough, though he wasn't quite sure if he were up to bad ass status yet. He couldn't help himself from attempting the bluff. He highly doubted Jon would believe his bold words, and would more than likely make him prove how much of a bad ass he was; or at the very least Tom figured that Jon would try to make him admit to not really being all that tough.

Jon smirked at Tom, "You have quite the mouth on you don't you?" His thin, short fingers released their grip on Tom's collar length blond locks. "But you're a really horrible liar kid."
***

There it was again, the feeling deep within the pit of Trent Malloy's gut that told him he needed to be home. It was the same feeling that had caused him to persuade Carlos they needed to get back to Dallas. Though he knew Tom could take care of himself, Trent Malloy still could not shake the feeling there was something terribly wrong with his younger brother. At first he had thought it was the on coming storm causing the sick feeling in the bowls of his stomach, but the closer he got to home the stronger and more violent the feeling became. Easing his foot harder on the accelerator, Trent pushed Carlos' SUV faster through the thick drops of rain slicking the dark highway. Hang in there little bro. He thought keeping his eyes focused on the road ahead of him.
***

Son of a bitch is going down. Tom glared at Jon, a fire of hate burning brighter than an inferno. He hated the waiting, but there really was nothing else he could do. Without proper backup there was no way he wanted to take on all three of the men. There was no doubt in his mind that he could take on the men, winning against them was another thing.

"That's a nasty bruise," Andy said quietly, taking a seat on the blue plush couch next to the chair where Tom sat. Closing his blue-green eyes, Tom ignored Andy's attempt at starting a conversation and rolled the soft cotton sleeve of the dark blue flannel he now wore, over a clean dry tee shirt, down past his elbow to his wrist covering the large purple-blue mark. "I can get you some ice for it, if you want."

Turning his head slowly Tom glared icily at the long haired blond next to him. He was beyond pity for the mousey man or any of the trouble Andy had managed to get himself into. Staring at Andy as if he were a bug he were about to squash, Tom said "I don't want anything from you."

"Have it your way, punk." Andy stood to leave. "I can tell you who we really want and why."

"Already know." Tom looked away from Andy as though he were calculating something, making a plan, not to escape again but to do something else; something that would throw them all off.

"So you know who we want." Jon took Andy's now vacant seat on the couch. "You were a nice prize, little man."

"Just wait, we'll see who the real man is."

"Just how close are you to your big brother, Tommy?" The wave of astonishment etching its way across Tom's face was more than enough to make Jon smile snidely at the youth before him. "I know who you are. I just didn't expect you to be here tonight, lucky us. From what I know about him, your brother would die for you."

"I wouldn't brag too loudly abut being all in the know about us," he said, recovering from the shock Jon' d handed him.

"Tell me how close you two are?" Jon motioned to Michael, whom had been standing somewhere behind Tom. Coldly Tom leered at Jon, fully aware of Michael glowering behind him. "Answer the question."

***

"Trent, man, what's the matter?" Carlos mumbled as he opened his eyes to the rain soaked windshield. "Why're we going so fast?"

"I've got a bad feeling."

"Maybe that's because you're driving nearly twenty miles too fast?" Carlos sat up straight in his seat.

"No. The closer I get to home the stronger the feeling gets."
"Have you tried calling Tom?" Shaking his head Trent pushed his phone toward Carlos. Nimbly his thin fingers dialed Trent' s home number. Suddenly, while listening to the ringing on the other end of the phone Carlos knew what Trent was talking about; his own stomach felt as though it were full of bricks.

"I was beginning to wonder if you'd know something was wrong," a voice not belonging to Tom said the moment the phone was answered.

"Where is he?" Carlos' voice shook slightly as his vocal cords scarcely allowed him to get out the three words.
"Speak to your friend." Jon moved close to where Michael was keeping Tom quiet. One by one Michael peeled his long thin fingers away from Tom's neck. Nearly all at once air rushed into Tom's lungs. Eyes still slightly glazed Tom scowled at Jon and the phone in his hand. "I said speak to your friend, Tommy." Jon shoved to phone against Tom's ear.

His lips moved to speak, but his bruised throat wouldn't give up a sound. Taking a deep breath Tom forced words from his abused throat. "Carlos, they wa . . ." Jon jerked the phone away from Tom's ear. Michael pressed his boney fingers over Tom's mouth nearly covering his nose; making breathing even more difficult for Tom.

"He's here. We have a test for Trent . . ."
Carlos' heart stopped and he couldn't get the lump in his throat to move when he heard the strain in Tom's horse voice. "If you hurt him, you stupid son of a bitch, I'll kill you!" He could feel the anger seeping from Trent as the truck surged ahead faster, making the other cars seem like blurbs of white and red as headlights and tail lights blurred behind them.
"The human body can take an immense amount of pain before it stops working. How much more can this boy take before he's broken?" A smile wrapped around Jon's head in anticipation of the horrified expression painting its way across Carlos' face. "Trent's test is to find his little brother. You may help him, but one call to the police and you'll never find him breathing. You have forty-eight hours starting," he looked at his watch, "in five minutes. Good luck."

****
"What do we get for passing this test?" His voice was hard and venomous. There was no answer to his question and the dead air on the other end of the line meant there wouldn't be an answer anytime soon. "Damn it!" Carlos nearly threw the cell phone at the dash.

Trent's gut wrenched with every reaction from Carlos; tears were beginning to well up in the corners of his eyes. He was scared for Tom. Tom was alone with God only knew who and there was nothing he could do but pray and drive faster. What Tom's captor had in store for him only God and Tom's tormentor knew, but the images of what the monster who had Tom could do to him played through his mind like a movie that Trent couldn't turn off. Trent could feel in the bowl of his gut that Tom was already hurt; he just didn't know how bad Tom was. "What does he want?"

"We have two days to find Tom," he sighed heavily. "The clock starts in two minutes. No cops, either. He said that they'd kill him if we called the police."

"How cliched is that?" He had to laugh at Tom's kidnapper. It must have been written in a handbook for evil people that the person they took would be killed if the police were called in. Usually they demanded money, not a game of hide and go seek. Trent had faith that Tom would steer them in the right direction, unless they stopped him. "They don't want money?"

"He said that it was a test and then he hung up. I could hear it in Tom's voice, he's hurt, man."

****

"Keep him under control." Jon opened the front door indicating that it was time to go.

A smile that equaled that of a serial killer spying new prey was now planted on Michael's narrow face as he eyed Tom. Without a word to Tom, Michael wrapped his boney fingers around the spot on Tom's arm that he'd already bruised. Pulling Tom in close to him, Michael walked out the font door of the house out into the steady flow of rain. His grip still tight, even through the rain, Michael pulled Tom into the backseat of the waiting Suburban.

Tom could feel panic begin to pull at his center. At the house he stood a chance of fighting or escaping, but on the run his chances went down. At the house he knew where all the exits were and he knew where he could hide in the neighborhood. Michael would be his shadow for however long it was that they intended to keep as a hostage. If it had been Andy, Tom was sure that the mousey blond would have all but helped him to escape. Escape while on the run was riskier than it was at home because at home there were fewer chances of an innocent person getting caught in the crossfire. But on the run any given amount of people could be hurt or killed because he was trying to save his own life. That was something that he just couldn't live with.

Taking slow breaths to calm the swells of panic that were attempting to rise within him, Tom looked around for what chould be his last time at the neighborhood Trent lived in.