“Is it out of your way?” Chase asked. “If so, why would you even bother?”
Rook huffed an impatient breath as he guided the big vehicle out of the parking lot and back onto the road. “I appreciate your cynicism, but it’s going to piss me the fuck off. And if you are what I think you are, you can climb in my head just as easily as I can get into yours.”
Chase bristled. “You don’t have a clue what I am.”
“Telepath,” Rook said immediately. “I can sense my own.”
“Your own? Look, man, we’re not in a cool kid’s club.” Chase crossed his arms over his chest, trying not to show just how good it felt to thaw in the blast of the warm air. No wonder Elijah was already dozing off behind them. “I’m a telepath, but I can do some other stuff too. Guess you can say I’m special.”
“Special enough to make beer mugs explode?” Rook glanced at him as the truck trundled along. They were going about fifteen miles under the speed limit, which was irritating but likely necessary with all the ice and snow. “How about cars?”
A lance of dread sliced through Chase’s don’t-give-a-damn armor, but he stared through the windshield and said nothing.
“I heard about a bad wreck off the Taconic. One car had flipped over onto the other. Four dead.”
“Four?” Chase cursed himself for letting the question slip. He rolled his shoulders and twisted his neck, pretending to be more concerned about the kinks in his body than the worry tripling in his brain. “I thought I heard about five. Maybe there were two wrecks.”
Rook didn’t seem convinced. He shrugged, tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, and said nothing more on the topic. It would have been better to leave it alone before the guy caught on that this topic was of particular interest to Chase, but he couldn’t. Because if there was a survivor . . .
Chase was in Rook’s brain before he’d fully made the decision to wade in. Years of practice with his telepathy allowed him to bypass the intersecting lines of thoughts and unnecessary memories, and pluck up the exact one that was relevant to him—a news report on the radio from earlier that morning.
“A two-car collision on the Taconic Parkway near Cold Springs left four people killed and a fifth injured yesterday morning. There were no witnesses to the deadly crash, but a passing motorist spotted the wreck before calling police. Police believe the two vehicles were speeding through the snow storm early yesterday morning, resulting in a collision that took them off the side of the road and one flipping onto the other.”
Chase exited the memory, but he was so fixated on the tinny sound of the reporter’s voice that he was sloppy about it. The trick to diving into someone’s mind was exiting as quickly as he’d entered, but he stumbled over the phrase “a fifth injured” enough times to linger.
Chase glanced over and found Rook giving him a pointed stare.
“Find what you were looking for?”
“Maybe. You don’t seem to be driving us off to kill us, so that’s a good start.”
It was bullshit. Chase had been too fixated on the lone survivor from Richard’s kill squad to even check into Rook’s motives. He was getting messy, but the information had him shook. Somehow, he’d gone from hating himself for snuffing out five lives to being absolutely fucking terrified that one of them had lived. A survivor meant an informant. Even if that person was locked down in a hospital surrounded by doctors and police, the right kind of Comm member could communicate with Richard telepathically.
In short, it was entirely possible that he and Elijah were already in danger.
Chase glanced back at Elijah and balled his hands into fists. The idea of him being taken back to the silo, of being locked up with Jasper or Will . . .
Rook shot out a hand to put on his arm. “Take a breath, kid. If this truck flips, we’re all dead.”
Jerking out of Rook’s grasp, Chase glanced around. Things on the dash had begun . . . shaking. The bobblehead doll, the dinky air freshener, and the radio had begun to fritz out. Jesus Christ, was that him? Did his protectiveness of Elijah really yank the destruction out of his psychic powers so easily?
He inhaled deeply, loosening his balled hands and relaxing against the seat. It didn’t work. He repeated the process again and again, but didn’t find a sense of calm until he looked back at Elijah again. He’d rolled onto his side, arms wrapped around himself, his curly hair covering his face.
“You’ve got it bad,” Rook observed. “Just be careful who you let see that part of yourself. People use the things you love against you.”
“Thanks, Yoda, but I’ve got it well-in-fucking-hand.”
Rook shook his head and allowed Chase to turn in on himself. The dude was nosy, and gave advice when nobody asked for it, but he knew when to take a hint. Judging from the lack of walls he’d put up as Chase subtly prodded around in the next several minutes, Rook also had nothing to hide.
Chase relaxed in the seat, letting his arms fall to his side. “I don’t know where you should drop us off,” he said. “Elijah said something about the waterfront, but half the fucking city is a waterfront.”
“You’ll find your way.”
They would. But would they find their way before the Comm came for them? That was the real question. He stewed in that until they left the smaller towns and the trees for the city that housed Vassar College. Poughkeepsie had absolutely nothing on New York, but seeing signs of life instead of an endless stretch of trees eased the knot in Chase’s gut.
If the Community valued anything more than complete obedience, it was discretion. They could hunt Nate and the others all they wanted, but when it came down to it, they would never put themselves at risk by making a scene where voids would see and remember.
“Holden . . .”
Chase jerked upright, gaze swinging back to Elijah. He was still sleeping, likely dreaming or having a nightmare, but that one word turned Chase’s heart to stone.
It wasn’t the first time Elijah had dreamed of Chase’s brother. There had even been times when Elijah had woken from a dream about Holden sweaty and panting, right before begging for Chase to fuck him. A stand-in. Placeholder. A good-enough dick.
Chase inhaled sharply and look away. He tried to focus on the city sprawling ahead of them, but his eyes were unseeing. Nothing worked right anymore. It was amazing how one breathy word from Elijah could break him down so completely.
“Mmm. How long was I ’sleep?”
When Chase didn’t immediately speak, Rook glanced over his shoulder. “About an hour. Drive took longer than I expected.”
Elijah uncurled from the bed, yawning like a kitten. He knelt on the floor behind the passenger’s seat and peered through the windshield. Chase watched out of his peripheral vision, tracing the slope of that delicate nose, the wide mouth, and long eyelashes. Why would he ever think someone as beautiful and special as Elijah would seriously be into him?
“So, where am I dropping you two off?” Rook asked, his gruff tone unchanged. “A hotel?”
“We don’t have any—”
“You can take us to Hudson Heights Drive,” Elijah said.
Chase turned to look at him, eyes narrowed. “You sure?”
Elijah gnawed on the inside of his lip, gaze turning faraway for only an instant before he nodded. “I’m sure. Uh. Mostly sure.”
“Good enough for me.” Chase jerked his head at Rook. “You heard the man. Hudson Heights, wherever the fuck that is.”
It wasn’t much different than the usual sardonic asshole commentary he made, but his caustic tone earned him a long look from Elijah. Chase remained quiet. They were in the middle of a life-or-death escape plan, complete with four actual deaths so far, and he was still finding time to be a jealous little bitch about Elijah and his brother. It was incredible, but not at all surprising. Chase had stewed in this resentment, this unrequited bullshit, for years. Now that he’d felt Elijah, every part of him and not just his skin when it was slicked with their combined sweat, the disappointed thrum in h
is chest felt capable of tearing apart his heart.
Why did he try? Why did he have hope?
The part of him that was small and cruel and hardened, the part that had been stunted but not crushed after he’d finally left the Farm as a child, had the audacity to wonder why he was doing any of this if he’d never matter to anyone.
Chase swallowed the sickness rising in his throat, and closed his eyes for the next fifteen minutes.
It turned out that Hudson Heights Drive was a circular residential street along the water. The Hudson River was a lot nicer this far north. Or at least it looked a lot less likely to turn them into radioactive mutants if they dipped a toe in it.
“Where can I let you out?” Rook asked, pulling to a stop by a basketball court. “Anywhere?”
“I’ll find it from here,” Elijah said. “I think.”
“Reassuring.” Rook shook his head, but there was a smile in his voice. Somehow, in the span of an hour that was mostly spent sleeping, Elijah had endeared himself to the man. “I can’t do much more for you from here—”
“You’ve done enough,” Elijah said quickly. “Trust me, none of the selfish queens in Manhattan would have offered us a ride out of the kindness of their hearts. It’s more likely they’d have walked in the other direction and tried to stay out of our business.”
“Good thing I’m not from the city, then.” Rook looked between them. “Listen, boys, if you get in over your heads, find a way to send me a message. I wasn’t kidding when I said the people like us in this area don’t think too fucking kindly on that group. You need backup, you holler.”
“What’s in it for you?” Chase demanded. Elijah sighed heavily, shaking his head, but Chase pressed on. “I’m serious, man. What’s in this for you? Why are you so concerned about what we’re up to and what happens with us?”
Rook tilted his head back, observing Chase more closely from under the brim of his hat. There was a brief beat of silence, and then he faced the windshield again, eyes narrowing. “I’m willing to help anyone taking on the group that broke apart my family. It led to the people like me, like us, banding together to keep an eye out for that group. They’re not the only ones who know how to get organized. And that’s all I’m gonna say about that.”
It was more than he needed to say, but Chase dove into his memories anyway. He skated through just long enough to see a younger version of Rook and a young girl with the same color hair, floating dishes with music and Sword in the Stone playing in the background, then the missing-person fliers.
Chase didn’t have to ask outright to put the pieces together. The Comm’s practice of collecting psys, even if it was against that psy’s will, had followed them up and down the river. Who knew how long Jasper and Richard had been doing this? They could have been kidnapping or coercing young psychics to join them at the Farm, their fucking psychic cult, for years.
Determination firmed up in Chase’s gut. He shouldered open the door to the truck, and dropped down to the damp ground beneath. He waited for Rook to meet his gaze again, and jerked his chin.
“What’s her name?”
A glimmer of anger flashed across Rook’s countenance, but no surprise. “Elise.”
The name meant nothing to Chase, but that wasn’t proof that she wasn’t there. Or that she hadn’t been there in the past. For all he knew, the more intense brainwashing wiped away all traces of who they’d ever been. Including their real names.
“If we get this thing done, and we take on the bastards on that Farm, I’ll look for her.”
Rook’s nostrils flared, and for just a second it looked like his eyes had gained a damp sheen. Then he shook his head curtly and looked away.
“If I see anything on my way down to Poughkeepsie, I’ll let you know.” He held up a small card bearing the name of a shipment company, and gave it to Chase. “Don’t lose it. Give it to your boyfriend if you have to.”
“Got it.”
Elijah hopped out of the truck and stood by Chase’s side. He had to have no idea what they were discussing, but he didn’t ask. He simply looked up at Chase and put a hand on the bend of his elbow, fingers digging in. They stayed that way until the truck was pulling away from the side of the road, rolling through the mountainous snow and disrupting the quiet neighborhood with all eighteen of its wheels.
“Did the Community . . .”
Chase pulled away from Elijah, uncaring of how pointed it looked. He shoved the card into his pocket. “Probably. I’ll find out if we ever get the chance to go back there and make a difference in what’s going on at that Farm.”
Elijah nodded slowly, watching him instead of scanning the area for the rest of their ragtag crew of runaways. “You didn’t have to offer to get involved.”
“When it comes to the Community fucking over people’s lives, I want to be involved.”
“Because you’re a good person,” he said quietly. “Even if you keep trying to shut down and go back to icing me out now that we’re going to be around other people again.”
Chase scoffed. “Yeah, that’s the reason.”
Elijah put his hands on his hips, managing to look huffy and diva-ish while layered in a million tons of oversized fabric. “What other reason would there be?”
Chase ignored the question and strode toward Hudson Heights Drive. The place was a little nicer than expected. At this junction in the horror movie playing out in his head, he’d figured everyone would be shacked up in a creaky cabin in the woods. Or an abandoned mental institution. Something equally traumatizing.
But no. This neighborhood was clearly on the privileged side, and the houses reminded him of The Brady Bunch. His long legs took him strides ahead of Elijah as he followed the sidewalk around the loop, occasionally glancing out at the bridge looming not too far away.
“Hey.”
Was this even the right place, or had they jumped out of their ride too early just to chase a vision that might boil down to having only been a dream?
“Chase!” Elijah jogged to catch up to him and grabbed his wrist. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Why are you being this way?”
A mushroom cloud of anger swelled inside of Chase. He took a deep breath, pushing it aside, and whirled around to grace Elijah with a cool glare. “Gee, Elijah, I don’t fucking know. Maybe because after all that ‘I’m in love with you’ bullshit—”
Elijah sucked in a breath, his big eyes going wider. “Wow.”
“—we’re about to be right back to you waiting for the chance to hump my brother.”
“That’s . . .” Elijah fumbled over his words, shook his head, then settled on a ferocious glare. He shoved Chase backward right there in the middle of this embarrassingly nice block. “That’s the stupidest fucking thing you’ve said in the past few days. And I hate you for saying it. I want to punch you in your asshole-ish pale face.”
“You hate me? Well, fuck you, then, pal. And while we’re at it, why don’t we cancel all that bullshit we had going for the past couple of weeks as well.” Chase ripped a hand across his face, and was furious to realize it was shaking. “You keep telling me I have the wrong idea about you and Holden, but I don’t. I’m not an idiot. I can see what’s in front of me even if you’re trying to run from reality yourself.”
Elijah looked either on the verge of crying or screaming in rage, or both. His hands were balled up, his body practically vibrating. They stared each other down, the most emo Wild West challenge in the history of challenges, and just as Chase thought Elijah was going to start shouting—a voice whipped into Chase’s mind.
Chase?
He looked up, scanning the area around them, and focused on a tan-paneled two-story home across the street. There were no cars in front, and there were no lights on inside, but the front door opened and a rangy figure with pale-blond hair stepped out.
The relief that socked Chase was unexpected. The sight of his brother was like the release of a breath he’d been holding for months.
Nate stepped o
ut of the house in bare feet, holey jeans clinging to his legs, and a hoodie that was a faded shade of black. All Theo’s shit. Somehow, that combination of the two of them cracked Chase’s walls even more. They stared at each other from across the street, Nate with disbelief and Chase . . . not knowing what to do, until Holden barged through the door and shoved Nate out of the way.
Holden looked from Chase to Elijah, then, to the surprise of no one, ran forward to crush Elijah to his chest in a hug.
The whole squad was present and accounted for.
Nate, Trent, Holden, Six, Lia, Jessica Payne, and two bonus fuckers who put Chase on edge almost as soon as he laid eyes on them. The chip on his shoulder leveled up to a boulder as he got cagey in the presence of two strangers with weird vibes.
“Is this the multi?” one of the two asked, his different-colored eyes zeroing in on Chase. He was older than Chase, maybe in his late thirties, and except for his eyes, had a face so generic it looked like he’d been engineered to blend in with a crowd. “We didn’t discuss extras showing up to my house.”
“The fuck?” Chase hadn’t been prepared for an entire party bus of psychics, and he’d been even less prepared for randos talking about him like he wasn’t in the room. “Who the fuck are these assholes?”
Everyone started talking at once—well, everyone except Trent, Holden, Six, and Nate, who hung back observing the scene warily. Elijah had edged closer to the quad, and part of Chase couldn’t help wondering if he was a little bit closer to Holden than anyone else. Goddamn, but he was obsessed.
“Everybody calm down,” Jessica said, speaking over them all. She looked as frail as she had the last time Chase had laid eyes on her, even though the thick hoodie and purple cords she wore were way out of character. It made her seem normal, approachable, while in Chase’s experience, she was anything but. “Chase, Elijah, this is Damon.” She nodded at the asshole with the green and brown eyes who’d spoken up. “This is his, and his brother Xander’s, house. Lia contacted them after we escaped the Farm, and they’ve been kind enough to let us stay here for now.”
Sightlines Page 14