The Thought Readers (Mind Dimensions #1)(44)

And with that, under gunpoint, we enter the private Reader community of Sheepshead Bay.





Chapter 19


We’re taken to some kind of ritzy clubhouse. It’s in the middle of an impressive-looking housing community. A house here must cost millions. I didn’t even know a place like this existed in Brooklyn—it’s more like something you’d expect to see in Miami. Such a lavish compound sort of makes sense, though; Readers should be able to find a bunch of creative ways to make money given their abilities. Or, more accurately, our abilities. I need to get used to the idea that I’m a Reader, I remind myself, remembering the snafu with Caleb earlier.

Inside the clubhouse are an indoor pool, a large fancy restaurant, and a bar. Caleb takes us further in, into what looks like some kind of meeting room.

A dozen people of different ages are here, looking at us intently.

“That really is Eugene,” says a hot blond woman who looks to be a few years older than Mira. “I can vouch for that.”

“I knew that much,” Caleb says, but finally lowers his weapon. “And this guy?”

“Never seen him before,” she says, looking at me. I do my best to keep my eyes trained on her face, rather than her prominent cleavage. Being polite can be a chore sometimes.

“He learned about being a Reader yesterday,” Eugene explains. Then he gives the blond woman a warm smile. “Hi Julia.”

The woman smiles back at him, but her expression changes back to one of concern quickly. “Are you sure he’s a Reader?” she says, sizing me up.

“Positive,” Eugene says. “You know my family history with Pushers. It was the first thing I checked.”

“You have to forgive me, but I must verify for myself,” Julia says. “You can be too trusting, Eugene.”

So these two somehow know each other. This must be what Eugene was talking about when he said things are less strict in modern New York than they were in Russia during his father’s time. Despite being ‘exiled,’ Eugene and Mira are not completely cut off from other Readers.

“Bring in our bartender,” Julia says to a short young guy to her left. He leaves and comes back with a young, extremely pretty woman a few moments later.

“Stacy, I just wanted to tell you about my new guest,” Julia says, gesturing toward Eugene. “Put his drinks on my tab.”

“Sure thing, Jules,” the woman says. She probably expected something more meaningful, being summoned as she was. Stacy begins to walk away when I’m suddenly in the Quiet again, and the woman who knows Eugene—Julia—is standing next to me.

“Now, Darren, I want you to Read Stacy,” she says. “Tell me something about her that no one else can know, and I’ll know you’re not a Pusher.”

This reaffirms what I surmised earlier: Pushers can’t Read at all. Otherwise, this test—and the test Eugene did when we first met—wouldn’t make sense.

Without much ado, I walk up to Stacy and touch her temple.



*



We’re walking into the room with Julia. Oh shit, he’s here, we realize, looking at Caleb. Of all the times we’ve made a fool out of ourselves, the time we got drunk with Caleb is hardest to forget for some reason. Probably because he’s a real man, unlike the rest of the guys here. It’s mostly a bunch of rich mama’s boys in this community. Well, except for Sam and the other guards.

I, Darren, try distancing myself from Stacy, the way I did in the now-dead Sergey’s mind earlier. I latch on to her memory of something involving Caleb, and try to remember what happened. I also notice that the feeling of lightness coming over me is overwhelming this time. If I feel any lighter, I might actually start floating.

“Caleb, you can’t drink that as shots. It’s sacrilege,” we say, watching our favorite customer down a shot of uber-expensive Louis the XIII Cognac like it’s cheap vodka.

“How am I supposed to drink it?” he says, giving us a cocky smile. “Show me.”

“Are you buying?” we say. “I can’t afford a three-hundred-dollar shot.”

“Sure,” he says. “How much for the whole bottle?”

We grin at him. “You don’t want to know. My suggestion would be to switch to good vodka.”

“What’s good?”

“Try this,” we say, pouring a couple of shot glasses of Belvedere, the better of the two pricey vodkas they stock in this place.

We take a shot glass ourselves and cross arms with Caleb, planning to have our shot poured into his mouth, and hoping he does the reverse. “How about a toast?”

When we see the expression on his face, our heart sinks.

“I’m sorry, Stacy. I wasn’t trying to hit on you,” he says, gently pulling away.

Goddamn it. Not this again. What’s wrong with the men in this f*cking community? We know most others are probably just rich snobs, but Caleb is their security. What is his deal? And Sam’s? It’s like a girl can never get laid around here.

I, Darren, distance myself again. I feel a little gross. After all, I’m in the head of a girl who’s clearly lusting after this guy. What’s worse, from Reading her, I completely understood what it’s like to want to take a guy home. I need to get out of Stacy’s head, fast.