And he’d been right to lose patience. Maybe.
Unless this was all bullshit, and Holden was being massively mind-fucked by Ex-Comm as well as the Community.
“Fuck this,” he whispered to himself. “I’m doing this my own way.”
If Richard Payne had taught him anything, it was that grabbing the bull by the horns was the only way to get things done. In this case, the bull was the Community. More specifically, the staff at the Farm. Everything sinister connected to the property upstate. Everyone who needed reprogramming or punishment ended up there. And it had started at Richard’s property, which was likely why the other founders never stepped foot onto it. They seemed to trust him to carry on with his plans and believed every word he said.
How could so many people—intelligent, talented people—be fooled by one person? Were they that desperate for a leader? Someone they could look at as a hero who would save them from a society they’d been groomed to fear? Fear had laid the foundation for so much in the Community. Holden had grown up being taught to be afraid of voids, to not trust the government, be wary of unconnected psys, and to truly believe that everyone was out to get them. He had been raised to believe they all had a special secret and a special mission to protect each other from the rest of a menacing world. But all along the menace had been inside, leading them unknowingly into whatever nightmare had been unraveling at the Farm.
Nobody called Holden back as he changed his clothes and headed out to the nearest car rental place. He was texting Kamryn while filling out the needed paperwork to rent an impressively bland sedan to drive to upstate New York for the day. He was on the road within the hour, but his phone did not ring until he was out of NYC proper and was speeding along the increasingly snowy Taconic State Parkway.
“Holden, where the hell are you?”
“Hey, Kamryn.” Holden put the phone on speaker and shoved it in the awkwardly shaped center console. “Going on an unexpected trip. I should be back by evening if all goes well.”
He hadn’t planned on what would happen if all . . . didn’t go well. His only plan so far was to flash his face, drop his name, and act like it was completely normal that he’d shown up asking about his family members and friend.
“‘If all goes well’? What’s that mean?”
“It just means if I don’t get held up.”
“I see.” She hummed. “You sound weird.”
“I’m fine, but thank you for noticing I’m weirder than usual. Is something wrong at the club?”
“The fire marshal is here.”
“Fuck.” Somehow, in the midst of everything else, that sentence was the icing on the cake. On a good day, fire marshals were pains in the asses. And this was definitely not a good day. All of the doors they wanted to stay unlocked were likely locked, and there were probably objects obstructing pathways and fire extinguishers in all the wrong places. “Are we fined yet?”
“She just started snooping around. I was hoping you could come in and deal with it, but I guess you blew off work to go on a day trip . . .”
“I knew my lovely general manager would be able to handle it,” Holden said through a yawn.
“And who might that be?” Kamryn asked. “Because my pay isn’t really—”
“If you want the position, it’s yours. We can discuss salary when I return.”
There was a silence punctuated by loud voices in the background and the fainter murmur of a song. “Holden, is this for real?”
“Yes. You’re business savvy, are more responsible than I am, and I’m coming to realize that I can’t do everything that’s needed to keep the club running. We can hire another bartender—”
“But I like tending bar!”
“Well, then we can hire someone else part-time so you’re at least sharing the shifts. Either way, I want you to help me run that damn club. If anything happens to me, there has to be someone—”
“Um. What now?”
Sleep deprivation was making him stupid. Holden tilted his head back against the seat and watched the road through slitted eyes. His head was pounding so powerfully that he could feel and hear the beating of his heart.
“Anything could happen to anyone at any moment. Take my current situation—I’m driving on a bridge while running on forty minutes of sleep. My eyes have shut twice since I started driving. I could end up—”
“Okay, shut up, Mr. Morbid. You’re not driving off a fucking cliff while on the phone with me. You better hang up first.”
“That’s your concern?”
“Well, I don’t want you to die, but I also don’t wanna go through life having heard the splash of your car falling into a river.”
“It’s a reservoir.”
“Holden . . .”
“Okay. Sorry. I’m in a weird mood, and it’s good to hear your voice.”
“Right . . .” The background noises fell away, and Kamryn huffed out a long sigh. “As your potential new general manager, is there anything you want me to do today besides scramble around trying to fix things we’ll get fined for?”
“Honestly, Kamryn, I can’t think right now. Just make sure Six is careful about who he lets in the club tonight.” He paused, wetting his lips, and considered his next words carefully. “I’ve gotten several complaints of men coming into the club and just . . . watching people. And then following them outside. In fact, tell Six and Stefen that—”
“Six isn’t here either.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah. He’s usually here about six hours after last call even though he doesn’t need to be. Maybe he should be your general manager.”
“Fuck that. It’s you or no one.”
“If you keep gassing my head up like this, you may live to regret it.”
“Never.”
They hung up after Kamryn promised to text him as soon as Six walked through the doors. It was strange that he hadn’t shown up yet, but there was no way to figure out what to make of it. Either he was sleeping in to commemorate the morning after his first fuck, or he was off taking an entirely different bull by an entirely different set of horns.
There were so many different avenues that could lead to, that Holden went right back to cursing himself for getting close to Six. Even for a moment. There was too much between them beyond mysterious connections and fantastic sex for him to seriously consider why he kept picturing Six nervously sitting on the edge of the bed with his fingers curled up. Feelings and attraction would have to take a back burner. For now.
The Farm was literally in the middle of nothing. Trees swallowed the road leading to the property and surrounded tiny towns distantly dotting the area around it. It was beautiful, especially now that it was covered in a dusting of snow, but the isolated aspect niggled at Holden. If something happened here, there were no witnesses. No one he could run to and no easy escape. He’d be trapped.
Slowing down, Holden eased the sedan to a stop on the side of the road a quarter mile away from the gates leading to the property.
He was being dramatic. As bad as this all looked, there was still the chance they were all wrong. That the Ex-Comm conspiracy theory was a complicated, well-thought-out plot by a bunch of paranoid psychics with too much time on their hands. Except, that was the complicated explanation. The Community having been turned into a cult by Richard Payne to further his own agendas was the simple one.
Holden put his hand on the shifter, fully ready to move forward again, but couldn’t do it. This wasn’t his first time on the property, but everything about the area put him on edge the way it never had before.
Easing his hand off the shifter, Holden sat back in the driver’s seat. Even with measured inhales and exhales, all attempts to find a trace of the calm confidence that had led to this moment were nowhere to be found. The adrenaline that had coursed through him in the early morning hours, fueled by nightmares and a lack of sleep, had been lulled by the car ride. Now, this felt like a very bad idea.
With his hands on the wheel, Holden
closed his eyes and reached out with his gift. At first it was just a channel opening to his own car, but with each inhale and exhale, he expanded the breadth until he could feel everything in the vicinity. As a kid, he and Chase had tested it and determined if he pushed himself, he could pick up on the vibes from people within two or three city blocks. Out in the middle of nowhere, Holden should have picked up on nothing but the pitter-patter heartbeat of animals and whatever lingering traces had been left behind on the road and foot paths over the years.
Instead, there was a fierce pulse coursing through the channel, a turbulent mix of irritation, determination, and confusion, and it was growing stronger with every passing second. As if someone was coming right at Holden.
He dropped his hand on the shifter again and jerked it into reverse before doing a swift U-turn away from the property. The pulse was bigger and brighter with every breath he took, bringing the individual closer to the road where they would see him or at the very least . . . the license plate, which could be linked back to him. Every thought racing through his brain was packed full of paranoia and irrational fear, but if Holden had learned to trust anything in his thirty-some-odd years of being an empath, it was to trust the vibes he picked up from people. And these vibes gave him the same sense of imminent danger that his father had so many years ago.
A couple of yards down the parkway was an off-road path leading into the trees. He veered sharply onto it and sped through the narrow opening just as the pulse burst into a supernova of energy indicating another presence nearby. Instinctively, Holden eased open the driver’s door, removed the keys and the papers he’d gotten from the car rental, and scrambled behind one of the towering tree trunks while trying his best to call forth a mental shield that was slightly comparable to the one that made Six invisible. It was absurd to be taking this much precaution, but his gut was telling him to not be caught out in the middle of nowhere on this snowy January day by some of the Farm’s security.
Holden peeked around the tree trunk and spotted two people on the road. His suspicions were confirmed.
For years, he’d only thought of the Farm’s staff as it had been in his childhood. Dour, homely, and wearing bland uniforms—the types of people who gave their life to an organization like the Community because they didn’t have much outside of it. They relied on the routine and dedication of people at the Farm to give them purpose. As a kid, Holden had looked up to them. As a teen, Holden had thought they were fucking losers.
But Six hadn’t fit that mold, and neither did the two individuals on the road. It was very clear things at the Farm had changed.
He saw a woman with waist-length blonde hair wearing black leathers, and a man with fiery red hair who wore the same. They were riding the quietest motorbikes Holden had ever seen, and were staring down the road with matching frowns. Looking for him.
Holden’s heart sank, and his hands trembled as he gripped the rough bark. He watched them pace down the road while conferring with each other, pointing down the winding parkway that led to the bridge. If luck was on his side, they’d be obtuse enough to think he’d somehow sped away in that brief span of time. But Holden was a lot of things and lucky wasn’t one of them.
They both turned toward the side of the road. Panic exploded inside of him and, for just a moment, his shield slipped.
Their heads snapped up like hunting dogs who’d gotten a whiff of fresh blood.
He was fucked.
Holden pushed himself away from the tree and took a careful step backward. His back collided with something hard, and his mouth dropped open in an involuntary scream. A hand clamped over his mouth, yanking him back against a broad chest, and then the thick blanket of an impenetrable mental shield surrounded him.
“Stay quiet and come with me,” Six whispered in his ear. “Or you’ll end up like your friends.”
They abandoned the car and didn’t speak during the jog through the wooded area surrounding the farm. With each step and each twig breaking beneath his shoes, Holden cringed. The sounds were magnified by the quiet of the woods, and his failed sense of direction did nothing to tell him whether they’d gotten a good distance away from the road.
He shifted closer to Six, so close he bumped into him several times, but his presence was comforting. The wall of his mental shield felt like protection against the outside world, and Holden craved even an illusion of safety. It slowed his heart rate and allowed him to catch his breath. Once they reached a small cabin tucked into a cluster of trees, he was composed enough to not appear completely hysterical.
“What is this place?”
Six started for the stairs, paused, and then glanced at Holden. “Do you feel anyone?”
Holden blankly stared for a second before comprehension triggered. He reached out with his gift, widening it as far as it could go, and cursed himself for not having done this during their trek through the mix of forests and marshland interweaving throughout the area. His first reaction had been to cling to Six, not find a way to protect himself. That was a problem.
“I don’t feel anyone at all,” he said. “But it only extends so far.”
Nodding, Six climbed up onto the porch and unlocked the door. “Just keep your third eye wide open. There’s always a chance someone can shield themself, but if you could feel the guards, there’s a good chance you’re more powerful than they are.”
“How did you know I could feel them?”
“Because you ran.” Six stood in the middle of the small cabin. “Which was smart.”
Holden turned the lock on the door handle and looked around. The cabin was cozy in a rustic and outdated way, with cedar wood panels lining the walls and floor, and furniture so faded he could barely see the floral design. There was a tidy little kitchen in the corner of the room and a short hallway leading to another room, but the entire place couldn’t have been more than seven hundred square feet.
“What is this place?” he asked again.
“It’s where I stayed while working on the Farm.” Six turned on a small lamp next to the couch and flooded the room with golden light. “I was one of the few guards who was able to live elsewhere.”
“What made you special? The length of time you were there?”
“Yeah. Most guards put in their time before requesting to be transferred to the CW or some other assignment in a city.” Six sat on the hideous couch and hunched forward, his elbows on his knees. “Your father let me have this because I never asked to go anywhere else. He wanted me . . . relatively happy, and I appeared brainwashed enough to be happy with this place.”
There was enough room on the couch for Holden, but he didn’t move. He wrapped his arms around himself and focused on the endless darkness of Six’s eyes, wondering how they’d become a source of comfort after weeks of distrust. “Why do the guards have guns, Six?”
“Same reason they do at a prison.”
“But this isn’t a prison.” At Six’s sideways look, Holden took a step forward. “It’s not.”
“On the surface it’s not, but I already told you what this place has turned into. You just don’t want to believe it.”
“Because—” Breaking off, Holden began to pace the room with his hands buried in his hair. “Because this is out of control. I was raised in this Community, Six. These people were my family. Growing up, people talked about the Farm and the people who worked there like they were clergy. They were what other members aspired to be, or at least respected even if that wasn’t what we wanted. And now you’re telling me it’s this fucking—” He yanked one hand free. “It’s a fucking prison where problematic members are reprogrammed, where talents are leeched, and troublesome psys are tortured. And they, what? They shoot anyone who tries to come in or out?”
“Yes. Allowing a trespasser to see what happens here, or a Community member to escape and expose the truth, is too risky.”
Dread swamped Holden. His pulse raced once again. “Have you ever shot anyone?”
Six’s dark gaze slid
to the window. His fingers tightened into fists. “Yes.”
“Oh my God. I’m going to be sick.”
Holden turned away to press himself against the window, needing the cold smooth glass to wake him from this nightmare. It couldn’t be real. This mounting horror had to be happening in the most twisted depths of his mind. There was no way this was life. No way this was the Community that had uplifted so many. That had raised him.
Without warning, Six’s hands slid up over his back to curve around his shoulders.
Holden shouldn’t have wanted those hands on him—hands that had hurt and maybe even killed. But he couldn’t push Six away. He was drawn in by the strength of him, and when that bubble wrapped around him again, he felt almost safe enough to break. As his chest constricted, he allowed Six to turn him so they were chest to chest.
“I’m not a murderer.”
Holden leaned heavily against the window instead of pressing against Six the way his body wanted to. He refused to look up. “You shot someone for trying to leave the Farm. You killed someone.”
“I had no choice,” Six said fiercely. He gripped Holden’s chin and forced him to look up and witness the terrible grief that had shown in Six’s eyes. The vacant facade had shattered to expose a sadness so sharp it briefly, just briefly, pinged Holden’s talent. “I was a teenager when they put me here and put me through their fucking reprogramming. They put me in a room with no windows, and every day they’d come in and talk about my life. My past. My parents. Where I’d be without the Community. They hurt me.” He searched Holden’s face as the pinprick of his pain emanated from behind his shield. “And they didn’t feed me or let me out until I nodded and smiled and agreed. It took them over a year to get me to that point.”
Holden slumped against the window, but the powerful grip on his body didn’t allow him much space. He could still feel the erratic beating of Six’s heart, the pain that grew larger with each word until it throbbed like an open wound.
“Then they started working on my talent. Testing it.”
Oversight (The Community Book 2) Page 14
