He wanted to believe it was a vision of their future together, but if Chase had learned one thing in his twenty-some-odd years of existing on this planet, it was that good things didn’t come to him. And if they did, it wasn’t without blood, tears, and a whole lot of loss along the way.
The next morning, they crawled out of their chilly cabin to find the summer camp half buried in snow. Even with Chase in a more solid frame of mind, they seamlessly returned to the previous day’s arrangement of Elijah leading and Chase following. They spent the next several hours climbing over snow drifts as tall as Elijah and debating on the best way to make the journey in the timeliest manner with the least amount of chances for frostbite or hypothermia.
It wasn’t a complete desolate wasteland once they reached the area that butted up against a road, but Chase was too paranoid to walk directly along it. They stayed just out of sight in the trees, walking what seemed to be blindly, before Elijah suddenly changed course and headed toward another highway. They crossed a jumble of larger highways and overpasses, narrowly avoiding being smashed by trucks, and stopped once they reached a large parking lot.
A diner loomed across the pavement, looking equally like the type of greasy spoon that served bomb-ass food and the kind of establishment that would be full of dickheads who would give them trouble. It was probably a stereotype offensive to other greasy spoons, but Chase had serious doubts that the patrons would be the sort to look kindly on a couple of skinny queers.
“I’m starving,” Elijah said, his breath fogging in front of his face. “And I think we should stop here for a while.”
Chase arched an eyebrow. “‘For a while’? How long is ‘a while’?”
“Until . . .” Elijah wet his chapped lips and glanced at the diner. His gaze followed customers as they shuffled from the warmth of their cars to the warmth of the diner. It looked goddamn inviting inside, the windows glowing with light and the smell of cooking meat wafting from inside. “Until something happens. I don’t know, Chase. But this morning when we were getting dressed, I had a vision of this place.”
“Okay, I’m here for this.” Chase hunched his shoulders so his collar went closer to his ears. “In the vision, did we magically find a wad of cash, eat a couple of steaks, and then hop on a magic carpet to Poughkeepsie? Did my asshole brother finally respond to me screaming his name into the mental void? That’d be awesome, because I’ve been doing that shit all day, and no response, despite my shields being down. I’m starting to think Jasper broke my telepathy with all his pulling and put the kibosh on my long-distance communication.”
Elijah shuddered as the wind sliced across the parking lot. “Maybe Six is screwing up your ability to tap into Holden’s brain. He probably has a shield over them to prevent anyone from tracking them down.”
“That’s stupid. Beck was tracking them.”
“Not well,” Elijah countered, rolling his eyes. “You said she could only pinpoint them to the general area. I highly doubt she’d have sucked in a power that weak if that was all it could do. I’m convinced Six is just a giant psychic boner killer.”
Okay, he had a point. Chase looked at the diner again. His stomach growled.
“Fine, maybe that means Nate will hear me when I’m closer, but that doesn’t fix the other problems. We got no money—”
Elijah held up a wallet, smirking. “Yes, we do.”
Chase snatched the wallet, opened it, and recoiled as soon as he saw the driver’s license. William Daniels. Just the sight of his face, young and smooth and bright-eyed with the zest to do the Community’s bidding, chased away all traces of Chase’s appetite. He handed it back to Elijah.
“You stole a dead guy’s wallet.”
“He wasn’t dead when I stole it,” Elijah retorted, shoving it back into his pocket. “I lifted it when he was trying to hump me in the back seat. There’s only about fifty bucks in there and no debit or credit cards, but it’s enough for dinner.”
“Eating on a dead guy’s dime? Nah.”
“Are you fucking kidding me, Chase?” Elijah’s voice rose, getting sassier with each syllable. “That piece of shit was going to rape me. He was going to kill you. They were probably going to kill Beck when they were done with her, your brothers, Six—”
“Okay, I get it. Doesn’t mean I want to—”
“I don’t give a fuck what you want to do! I’m starving and cold, and I have a really good feeling about this place. Don’t be such a controlling asshole.”
Chase started to argue, watched Elijah’s eyes narrow in warning, and took a slow deep breath. It was only his newfound ability to feel waste-of-time emotions like love that allowed Chase to keep his mouth shut and stop arguing. If Elijah wanted to eat, they would eat. And when it got them killed, Chase would be a total pain in the ass in whatever trash afterlife they wound up in.
“Let’s go.”
Elijah went from glaring to beaming in a hot second, and speed-walked across the parking lot like someone had lit a fire under his ass. Maybe they had, and maybe that fire’s name was hunger.
Chase watched Elijah bust into the place like he owned it, but took his own time checking out the scene before he committed to an actual entrance. There sure as hell weren’t any motorcycles but he spied several trucks, family station wagons, and SUVs.
He walked inside to find Elijah shedding his scarf and hat as he spoke to a hostess. So far, no one was paying them any mind. The place was dotted with a good mix of customers—bearded daddies in leather, guys in heavy coats who sat alone but still somehow clustered together, and tired-looking parents with bratty kids. They all seemed bored or miserable, which made him and Elijah prime targets for people-watching as soon as they stepped in. It didn’t help that Elijah chirped that he was fine sitting at the bar. The hostess sat them smack-dab in the middle of the biker dudes and the trucker dudes.
“We couldn’t get a booth?” Chase muttered. “Fuck’s sake.”
“This is fine.” Elijah shrugged off his coat and made a big show of rubbing his arms to warm up. “We used to hang out at the bar all the time at Evo.”
“Yeah, because Evo was a fucking queer joint and this place is in the middle of Assfuck, New York.”
Elijah whipped open his menu and ignored the comment, but the people around them sure as hell didn’t. Chase glared back at the bikers as they openly sized him up. They were probably wondering what would give a scrawny white-haired faggot in bummy-ass clothes the balls to talk trash that loudly. Funny, because he’d been trying to figure that shit out for his entire life.
The biker crew lost interest after a couple of minutes, and Chase glanced down at his menu. It was packed full of every possible item you would think of, but he had no interest in any of it. Even the smell of cooking meat no longer appealed to him. All the scents in the place had combined to create an overwhelming smell of food, but it churned his stomach.
Maybe it was the picture of Will, or the idea of sitting in one place for long enough to bullshit with a waiter’s slow service and paying a bill, but he had a sinking feeling. However, his paranoia did not trump Elijah’s precog abilities, so Chase wasn’t about to make a big deal about his doubts.
It was Elijah who’d led them to the camp and who’d gotten them this far. Not trusting him with their lives would be stupid.
“Okay,” Elijah said, slapping his menu shut. “I want a short stack with eggs, bacon, biscuits, and grits on the side. And a jug of coffee.”
“What the fuck?” Chase blinked at him skeptically. “You couldn’t just get some soup? We’re literally living on fifty bucks for the rest of our stupid-ass lives at this point.”
Elijah rolled his eyes again, all long eyelashes and tilting head movements. “First, that whole meal is like seven bucks. Second, if you think I’m going to hike the next fifteen or so miles to the Waterfront District without a full stomach, you’re—”
“Wait, back up, what’s that about a waterfront?”
Elijah paused with
his feet on the bottom rung of the stool. He’d been about to jump down but was now staring thoughtfully at the scarred bar top. “I don’t know. It just popped into my head. I saw this two-story townhouse on . . .” Elijah chewed on his lower lip. “I just had it, but it’s gone now. I’ll keep thinking.”
“Yes, keep fucking thinking. I’ll feed you anything you want if warmth and comfort means visions popping into that pretty head of yours.”
Elijah grinned at him. “I don’t think that’s it, really. Well, maybe not. But . . .” He stepped the rest of the way to the floor and looked around quickly. His voice lowered. “I’ve been wondering if my gift is like yours, and maybe it responds better when I’m like . . . in emotional duress. Kind of like it needs to be triggered.”
“Would make sense. Mine is apparently triggered by me wanting to protect you, but so far you’ve been the one saving my ass since we hit the road.”
They looked at each other for a long moment before, with no warning whatsoever, Elijah stood on his tiptoes for a kiss. And because Chase gave exactly zero fucks, he kissed back with a low growl.
Elijah drew away with a mischievous grin, turned on his heel, and sauntered toward the bathroom. Chase knew that he was probably about to get stomped by some bikers, but he still couldn’t stop himself from watching Elijah’s ass as he walked away. How was it possible for Chase to be horny, cold, hungry, and getting ready to fight all at the same time? He was a bomb multitasker.
“Hey, you.”
Ah shit. Here it went.
Chase swiveled around on his stool to find the whole biker crew staring him down. One in particular, a big dude with pale-blue eyes and a beard long enough to make him look like red-haired Gandalf, had waltzed over to Chase. He was a total cliché in a leather vest, a grimy grease-stained ribbed shirt beneath, and leather pants tucked into monstrous shitkicker boots. He could probably kill Chase with barely any effort. Which meant he could also hurt Elijah.
Chase’s lip lifted in a snarl, and his hands closed into fists. That was as far as he got before the glass one of the bikers was holding shattered in his meaty palm. Everyone exclaimed, drawing attention off Chase, but Gandalf the Red didn’t shift his gaze. He just nodded his head once, quirking his mouth up briefly, and said, “We should talk.”
“’Bout what?”
Gandalf jerked his head back toward his boys and lowered his voice to a gruff rumble. “’Bout that mess you just made. But we can save it until we’re in one of the booths you were crying about.”
Booths? Huh. This dude hadn’t been sitting close enough to hear that comment over the din of the restaurant, and yet he had.
Intrigue slid through Chase, and he felt himself nodding. “Yeah, okay, but don’t blame me when your buds think you’re trying to pick up some rough trade.”
Gandalf leered. “They wouldn’t be surprised, but your boyfriend is more my type.”
Chase didn’t try to hide his cringe face. “Okay then. But if you touch him, I will literally blow your fucking brain up. Just saying.”
“Yeah, I get the picture.”
Gandalf strode across the diner like he owned it, nodded at the hostess, and plunked his ass down in a booth. He folded his hands, pushed his shoulders back, and waited while staring Chase down. It was one of the weirdest things to happen in the past few months, but at this point who was Chase to challenge it? Especially when Elijah had said something would happen here.
Maybe big daddy Gandalf the Red was that something.
Or maybe he’d just kick their asses. Or offer them money for a blowjob.
Chase ran his tongue over his teeth, glanced around the room, and sauntered over to the booth. He spotted Elijah coming from the bathroom out of the corner of his eye, but didn’t turn his head. No way in hell was he breaking this Wild West–style glaring contest. It was already unfortunate that he was dressed like shit and drowning in a too-big coat.
“So let’s hear it,” he said. “What the fuck could you possibly have to say that my hateful self would want to hear?”
“Might want to wait for your boyfriend,” Gandalf muttered.
Elijah slid into the booth next to Chase, bumping his hip until Chase slid over toward the wall, and didn’t miss a beat.
“Is your name Rook?”
Rook flashed a crooked-toothed smile. His eyes went up and down Elijah, in lust despite Elijah being more covered up than he’d been in years. Nobody could resist him. Nobody.
“You got it, sweet thing,” Rook drawled. “Saw me in that head of yours?”
“Yeah. I did. But it was blurry.”
Chase looked between Elijah and Rook, incredulousness slowly morphing into a mix of disbelief and fear.
“You’re Comm—”
“Shut your piehole, boy,” Rook rumbled, smile fading when he turned his attention back to Chase. “That’s a dirty word around here.”
Bristling, Chase threw his arm over the back of the seats and made sure it touched Elijah. “Which one? You’re or Community?”
Elijah elbowed him in the side, and Rook ducked his head. He flicked his gaze around the diner like they were under siege, discontent and paranoia pouring out of him in such heavy waves that even Chase could feel it. If Nate were here, it’d have bowled him over.
The thought of his brother, the awkward nervous empath with the inability to construct a real shield, pinged his heart. That kid had gotten under his armor without even trying, all because he’d been so earnest and clueless. Also because he wasn’t an asshole.
“You think it’s a joke?” Rook asked once he was glaring squarely at Chase again. “You don’t know what you’re walking into, which is why I pulled you aside. It’s only out of the kindness of my heart, bud, but I can cancel that compassion right fucking now if you want to play games.”
“No,” Elijah said before Chase could retort. “Please tell us whatever you wanted to tell us. I have a feeling . . .” He trailed off, nibbling on his pillowy lower lip. “I did have a vision, but it was all in pieces. I saw you and this place, but none of it fits just right. All I know is that something good comes out of us being here.”
Chase sighed quietly, but kept his yap shut. For that, Elijah shot him a grateful little smile. The tiny upturn of his lips made Chase’s insides go all gooey.
“I don’t know what you think you saw, but I’m just here to warn you.” Rook put his forearms on the table and leaned in closer, furrowing his bushy brow. “I can smell the psychic on you two, which means other people can as well. It doesn’t help that you both stand out more than a showgirl in a feather boa. It’s not healthy and it’s not smart.”
Now, Chase once again felt hunted. It sucked after an entire day of Elijah trying to reassure him that maybe Richard and Jasper wouldn’t know what had happened yet.
“Get to the point, Gandalf,” Chase cut in. “We’re not exactly trying to flaunt our shit, but in our current situation, there’s no other choice. So tell me what you know about the big C.”
Rook’s jaw clenched. “Like I said—dirty word around here. We’re a small town, and the talent stands out, if you know what I mean. So do strangers. People start noticing when outsiders from the cult come sniffing around and looking to recruit. We also notice when the people they were trying to reel in suddenly go missing.”
Elijah inhaled sharply, but Chase felt zero surprise. This is what he had expected. It was what he’d feared.
“Gotcha,” he said, voice lowering. “But I can tell you that we know how dangerous that cult is. We just escaped it. Barely.”
Rook sat back and spread his arms wide. For just a second, his dark eyes gleamed, then he was slowly nodding as he studied Elijah, then Chase and back again. Reading them like one of the overly long menus sitting up at the bar.
“I see.”
Chase’s skin crawled, but he bit down on the urge to snarl at the motherfucker to stay out of his head. Having his shields down fucking sucked.
“We have to get out of here,” El
ijah said softly. “As soon as possible. It didn’t go down the way they wanted, and they won’t be happy. I think . . . we’ll be okay once we’re with the others, but I’m afraid of what will happen between here and there. It’s five or six more hours on foot, and that’s if we don’t stop. Without taking the snow into consideration.”
“You’re fucked,” Rook said flatly. “It’s a bad plan.”
“No fucking shit, bud,” Chase muttered. “You got a better one?”
“Yup, I sure do.” Rook made eye contact with someone across the diner and jerked his head. “First, you’re gonna feed yourselves. Second, I’ll take you to the Poughkeepsie.”
Elijah sat up straight, eyes going wide. “That’s so—”
“Good idea, but how the fuck are two of us gonna fit on the back of your motorcycle, genius?”
Elijah whipped around and punched Chase in the shoulder. “Chase, shut the fuck up!”
Chase rubbed his shoulder, still eyeballing Rook. “It’s a good question.”
“It would be a good question if I was driving a bike, wise guy.” Rook grinned as the waitress came over. “You’ll be getting a ride in the back of my truck.”
Elijah shot daggers at Chase, who took that as his cue to shut the hell up.
When Rook said he had a truck, he hadn’t been messing around. The dude was dressed like a biker, but he led them to a goddamn eighteen-wheeler. Elijah swung up into it like it was the most natural thing in the world, triggering a protective streak in Chase as he remembered his little drummer boy had once had a penchant for hitchhiking.
It took a lot for him to get in the passenger’s seat and say nothing, but he managed. Elijah curled up on the bed at the back of the cab. It was done up pretty cozy looking with blankets and pillows. The softness combined with the heat on full blast automatically caused Elijah’s face to go all dreamy.
“Feel free to take a quick nap,” Rook said gruffly, starting the engine. “You have about forty-five minutes before we hit the city.”
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