“How are you dealing with all of this?”
“Do you really care how I’m doing, Nate?”
“You kept your word and didn’t bring me or Trent to the attention of your father.” Nate half turned toward him and leaned forward. “I didn’t know what to expect from you, which is why I . . . didn’t return your call and reached out to Lia instead. I was just scared. But you didn’t throw us under the bus even after they tried to use you as a scapegoat. So, yes. I care.”
The iron bar sliding down Holden’s back softened just a bit. He hunched forward with a huff. “I didn’t know I’d needed to hear that until you said it.”
Nate’s smile was almost triumphant. “I’ve been practicing my empath skills.”
“Oh? No longer scorning your gift?”
“Nope. I’m making my living by reading tarot cards. It requires me to constantly read people’s reactions.”
Holden tsked. “You’re better than that.”
“Am I?” Nate wrapped in on himself, elbow resting on his knee and face cradled by his hand. “When I was younger, I used to judge people in my family who read palms or tarot cards. Thought it was a bunch of hocus-pocus and scams. But, after doing it for a while, that’s sort of changed.” Nate chewed on his lower lip, gaze unfocusing as his thoughts went somewhere far away. “Now it’s sort of . . . nice to be able to give people an unbiased perspective about their lives.”
“An unbiased perspective.” This time, Holden did laugh. “Is that what you’re calling it?”
“Yes. Sometimes if the impressions are strong enough, I can see into their thoughts and feel what they felt in the past, and I just sort of . . .” Nate waved his hand. “Read the cards based on what I’ve felt about their lives and give them my unbiased opinion on what I think they should do. And yes, I know how that sounds. Sometimes I suspect Trent thinks I’ve turned into a new age hippie with delusions of grandeur.”
“Yes, well, that’s one way of putting it.”
Nate shrugged, smiling slightly. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed the way you didn’t answer my question. How are you?”
Holden had hoped the distraction had been sufficient, but he didn’t fight for another way out of the conversation. “I’m awful, Nate. Everything I thought I knew about my life is a lie. My father is a monster, my mother . . . he crushed her and her spirit at this place just because she didn’t want to accept his corruption of the Community. There aren’t sufficient words in my vocabulary to explain just how not okay I am right now.”
“I get it.”
“How could you get it? I mean, seriously.”
“Because you were right about my family being batshit.” Nate sat up straight again, his pale hair tumbling over his shoulders as a dry wind cut through the woods. “I don’t think me and my brother were a fluke. I think my family had practiced incest for a while to keep the psychic gifts strong in our genes.” Nate’s tone was matter-of-fact, as though he’d long accepted this truth. “End result is a family where mental illness and addiction runs rampant due to all the inbreeding, and my mother running here to find solace and instead finding your father. You’d think that would have been the worst for her, the experimentation and them taking Chase, but when she went back to Texas, her own sibling decided to start up the inbreeding again.” Nate’s lips turned up in a way that showed he’d mastered the art of the humorless smile. “So, I found out my uncle is also my and my brother’s father. It’s really no wonder she fucking killed herself, if that’s what really happened.”
Holden was struck silent for so long, with his eyes rounded with shock and awe, that Nate finally cracked a real smile.
“Don’t feel like you have to say anything. There’s no real way to respond.”
“No. There’s not.” Holden ran his fingers through his hair and exhaled slowly. “But, Jesus, Nate. I suppose you really do understand.”
“Yep. Lucky me.” Nate pressed his hands against the step to push himself up, but he didn’t move. “This is awful, Holden. It’s fucking awful. All of this. And I’m sorry your father is so involved, but like I said . . . I know a little bit about the goddamn betrayal of realizing the man you grew up with is actually a monster. Your father is just a different kind than my own.” Those silver eyes flashed. “What I’ve come to realize, and a lot of it has to do with being with Trent, is that just because we’re born into something doesn’t mean we have to be part of it. We don’t have to rationalize it or defend it or take it on our own shoulders. The Black family’s shit isn’t on me. It’s not my shame. And the Community’s crimes aren’t yours. We can be free of this, Holden. There’s no such fucking thing as fate. We can make our own way and find other people to start over with.”
Holden’s wall of grief cracked just a little, and Nate’s encouraging smile splintered it the rest of the way. He breached the space between them and drew Nate into a loose hug. No vibes. No talents. Just the solid weight of a body against his own and arms around his neck. Who knew it could feel so good just to be close to someone? It wasn’t something he’d ever attempted before being with Six.
The thought must have summoned him, because as Holden pulled away from Nate, Six appeared in the back door.
Relief flooded Holden. He realized just how keenly he’d wanted Six to follow and comfort him, but it faded at the serious expression on that hard face.
“I’ll be inside,” Nate said, excusing himself. “Helping Trent figure out how to navigate trees.”
Holden tried to force a smile, but it was wobbly and faded entirely once Six came over to him.
“What’s wrong now?”
“I don’t like it when he touches you.”
Holden’s brows snapped together. “What? Who?”
Six jerked his head in the direction Nate had gone.
“Are you serious?”
“Have you known me to joke?”
“I haven’t known you to be irrationally possessive either.” Holden stared in wonder, unable to hide his surprise. This was one of the more unexpected conversations he’d ever had. “He was just being nice. I mean, have you seen his boyfriend? You’re similarly tall, dark, and gorgeous.”
“I don’t give a shit.” Six remained towering over Holden, the air around him crackling with possessiveness and anger. “I don’t like it.”
Holden grabbed the hem of his coat and dragged him down. At first Six resisted, but he eventually allowed himself to be drawn down onto the step. When Holden shifted closer and cupped that stubbled face with his fingers, breath catching at the way Six leaned into the touch, he had to force himself to not use his newfound ability to read Six. Even if he had the key to unlock all that armor, he refused to abuse it. Because this—the feel of skin and breath and the smolder of bottomless black eyes—was enough.
“You want me to be straightforward with you, so now it’s time for you to do the same for me,” Holden said. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”
“I’m thinking about how much I hate this.” Six reached up to encircle Holden’s wrists with his hands. “When I took this assignment, it was because I remembered you from the tribunal and because you were Jessica’s son. I wanted to protect you if I could. Wanting to kiss the fuck out of you every ten minutes wasn’t part of the plan. And neither was wanting to be the only one who gets to touch you.”
Holden slowly nodded, pulse picking up but unwilling to interrupt this flow of speech.
“I’m sorry I kept secrets from you, but we only just started opening up to each other. And I’m sorry I can’t be like Nate—fucking knowing what to say, when to say it, and how to touch you when you need someone to make you feel better.” Six wet his lips, a nervous gesture that still drew Holden’s gaze. “I’ve never done this before, so I don’t know how to put it into words, but I want to be more than the cyborg bodyguard you’re fucking who can also take care of anyone who looks at you sideways. The compassion and comforting words—everything he just did for you—should have come from me. I just don�
��t know how to do it.”
“That’s not true.”
Six pulled Holden closer, strong fingers digging into slumped shoulders. “No. I really don’t.”
“Give yourself some credit, Sixtus. You’re doing a goddamn fine job right now.” Holden allowed himself to melt onto Six as if the strings holding him up had been cut. Strong arms encircled him, and the ghost of a smile graced his lips. “If we make it out of this, I can’t wait for us to figure out how to be in a relationship. It should be a mess.”
“When we make it out of this,” Six rumbled in his ear. “I may not understand soft touches, but I have the rest of this shit on lock.”
“I hope so.”
It was amazing how easy it was to cope with being overwhelmed and frightened when his lover was standing in front of their ragtag group with a map and a scowl. Holden wasn’t sure when his brain had switched over from calling Six the cyborg to his lover, but the phrase came with absolutely zero alarm.
There were no labels yet attached to their transition from handler and boss’s son to wary comrades to comrades who calmed down by making each other come, but Holden didn’t need any. Out of all the men he’d ever been with, no one had ever expressed so much frustration over an inability to show him more affection. It just didn’t happen. Usually, people expressed frustration because they couldn’t use him as a stepping stone to greater things in the Community. Holden had never been on the receiving end of a mushy declaration, but he’d just gotten one from a man whose brain prevented him from having empathy. It had to mean something.
“Holden, you with us?”
“You said there are three routes away from the Farm and back to Highway 82,” Holden repeated.
“Yes.” Six flashed him a tiny smile, like he knew his voice almost always sounded too harsh. That speech out in the yard had definitely meant something. “We have three vehicles at our disposal. Holden left his sedan just off 82 in the woods before Turner Road, I left my motorcycle at the end of Turner at the start of the marshes, and Lia’s truck is . . .”
“It’s off the road on the property across the highway a ways down,” Lia said. “It looks like some kind of government facility and seems to be closed for the holidays. It’s probably the farthest vehicle, so whoever goes with me will hopefully be in decent physical condition.”
Trent rocked back on the balls of his feet. “Are we expecting them to be injured? I thought it was just brainwashing. Reprogramming. Whatever the hell you’re calling it.”
“Usually it is,” Six said. “But that changes when people aren’t cooperative or if they try to escape. And if any of them are too far gone, they may resist and become combative.”
“Do you think that will be the case?” Nate pressed.
“I don’t know. Elijah hasn’t been there long enough to have been thoroughly brainwashed. And Chase is strong-willed and a pain in their asses, so he’s likely not fully changed over just yet.”
Six glanced down at the map. It outlined the five main buildings on the property—an unused barn, the farmhouse where most staff lived, the guest house, the cottage, and then the silo.
“I’m assuming Jessica is either in the main house or in the guest house, which is where I last saw her. Elijah is probably in the cottages where they do the actual realigning the way it’s described to the masses.” Six pointed at the dark X he’d drawn to mark the silo. “Chase is here.”
“They keep him in a grain silo?” Trent asked dubiously. “It has to be converted into something else.”
“It is.”
Six removed his phone from his pocket and thumbed at it for a moment before passing it around. At some point during his career at the Farm, he’d captured several pictures of the interior of the silo. It had been reconstructed into a four-story building with a freight elevator that went up the middle and tube-like rooms that were packed onto each floor.
“That reminds me of that Japanese tower,” Trent said, handing the phone back. “The capsule tower.”
“That was Richard’s inspiration. I was there when they talked about it, and I watched it be built.”
“Sounds like you have a lot of history with these people.” Nate had unwound his multitude of scarves and shed his trench coat. He looked more familiar in the tattered jeans and a plain white tee. “Are you sure they weren’t expecting you to defect all along?”
“I’m positive. Richard wouldn’t have let me off the Farm.”
“But why was he so sure of himself?” Nate pressed. “I know I’m being cynical, but I like to prepare for the worst. What are the odds that one of their precogs saw this coming and all of this is a giant trap?”
Not having thought of that angle, Holden’s stomach clenched. He exchanged looks with Lia, who had shifted closer to Nate. Although he’d known Lia longer, she clearly had a lot of respect for the remaining Black twin. Probably because he’d seen through all the Community bullshit from the get-go. It was hard not to feel a little bitter about having not seen through it as well, especially when Holden’s blindness had nearly resulted in catastrophic failure and death.
It was still difficult to look at Trent without remembering his vacant eyes and his strong hands wrapped around Holden’s throat. Beck’s ability to mind control had been like nothing he’d seen before, and he often wondered which psy she’d cannibalized to absorb the power.
Six set the phone on the counter next to his maps—both real and drawn. He planted his hands and leaned forward, looking between them.
“I don’t expect any of you to trust me one hundred percent. If you do, you’re probably an idiot.”
“I guess I’m an idiot, then,” Holden said.
Six’s mouth twitched up at the side. “Not you. But these two barely know me and their questions make sense, so I’ll put it to them like this—psychics are assholes. They’re so caught up in their X-Men shit—”
“See? X-Men,” Trent muttered to Nate. “I’m not the only one thinking it.”
“—that they stop using their other senses and their instincts. They rely on their abilities or the abilities of people they think they can trust. Because I’m an impenetrable, they can’t get that far with me. All they know is what I tell them, because they don’t know how to read me any other way, and I’ve been doing this so long they have no reason to believe I’m not really on their side. And I’ve never been on their side.”
“You know I believe in you, Six,” Lia said. “But do you really think we can pull this off? Just walk onto this place, a place three out of five of us have never even been in, and remove three high-profile Community members? No offense, but if you get me killed, I’m going to whoop your ass in whatever afterlife we end up in.”
Now that was a question that had reoccurred in the back of Holden’s mind since they’d started pointing at maps and going over backup plans, but he’d never voiced it. Maybe he really was an overly trusting idiot, because when Six had confidently outlined how they would get in and out, Holden hadn’t doubted that it could happen. Unless they got split up and he was left on his own.
“We can do it,” Six said. “You just have to make sure you stay low. This isn’t some bustling place where you can blend in. It’s quiet, orderly, and everyone knows each other.”
“And if someone tries to stop us?” Holden asked. “If someone sees me?”
“Bullshit your way out of it or run.”
They waited until nightfall to make their way to the Farm. Good for concealment, but bad for Holden’s sense of direction and nerves. With each step, he imagined the crack of a twig or crunch of a dead leaf alerting nearby predators. Previously, he’d thought woods were full of dangerous animals and serial killers. That was potentially the case here, but he was more worried about the guards who were apparently trained to view Comm members as objects to be destroyed or silenced if they didn’t perform as expected after all of the conditioning.
According to Six, they always had at least twelve guards on a patrol shift at a time. The up
side was that the property was huge, so twelve people couldn’t sufficiently patrol the Farm and all four buildings without there being huge gaps in coverage. The downside, to Holden, was that their plan didn’t account for any psychics who might sense their presence on the property. Although, all of them except Trent could shield themselves from probing psychic mental fingers. It was a huge chance they were taking, but their hope was that none of the guards would expect a void to stage a daring escape and wouldn’t be looking out for those kinds of vibes.
The other thing that bothered Holden was how arrogant his father had to have become to have security this lax. Over the years, his father’s feet must have permanently left the earth as he’d started thinking of himself as a small god lording over the community he’d created. The cult he’d created. And they were so sure of their reprogramming, they’d clearly never expected the lack of security to ever become a problem. The real problem was whether that arrogance was valid.
Holden’s mother had been an entirely different person on the phone. If it hadn’t been an act, it would be difficult to reason with or appeal to the humanity of a person who’d been brainwashed into viewing anyone but a Community flunkey as a threat.
They slunk through the trees and onto the wide stretches of grass in order to make their way to the main house. It was beautiful even in the darkness, with a wraparound porch, clusters of trees hugging the sides, and a single light casting a golden glow on the front. It was so silent and peaceful that Holden had a hard time reconciling it with their mission and everything Six had said.
“You really think they’d keep my mother here?” Holden whispered. “When I spoke to her, I had the impression she was being closely monitored, and this place was lax when I was here.”
Oversight (The Community Book 2) Page 17
