The Time Stoppe(5)

Stop being a danger slut, Mira, I chide myself. How can you even think about what he looks like after what was in Shkillet’s head?

Or, more importantly, given what I’ve heard about Victor. This tendency to drool over monsters is something I truly despise about myself.

So, to that end, I decide enough’s enough. I need to give Victor a Reading and get the hell out. I’ll be only half-empty of Depth, and that will have to be enough.

I put my arm on his chiseled chest, right on the serene face of Lady Liberty. Physical contact made, I concentrate.

I’m going back far enough to see what he did before he came into this room. With any luck, he might’ve been thinking of blowing up someone’s car. If so, Shkillet won’t be the only person I’ll need to deal with . . .



*



We’re inside Vera. She moans softly. With her bent over just the way we like, we have a nice view of her naked back. It’s sinewy with muscle. In a perfect world, we like our woman to be a bit curvier, but there’s something about her that we find attractive enough to overlook that fact. Our previous squeeze had nice love handles, but she, unfortunately, didn’t appreciate our interest, instead opting to overdose while we were taking care of business. Women.

Besides the lack of curves on Vera, we also don’t approve of the tattoo on her lower back. It’s of Madonna holding the baby Jesus. When we f*ck someone doggy-style, the last thing we need is a religious symbol staring us in the face, particularly since the tattoo artist made Madonna beautiful. Probably wanted to mess with the heads of everyone who’d ever f*ck Vera in the future—which is a large number of people. Or, just as likely, the bitch arranged for the tattoo to have this effect herself.

As our thrusts deepen, she moans louder, and that brings us closer to the edge. In an effort to prolong the sensation, we direct our mind off the f*cking and onto irrelevant things, like the dimples above her ass.

Unfortunately, they’re actually a turn-on.

So then we try focusing on the little mole on her right shoulder blade. That works for a bit until we notice the way the sweat slicks her skin. Smooth, gleaming skin. Fuck. We lift our head to stare at the blank walls of the VIP room.

I, Mira, disassociate, albeit hesitantly. This is the first time I’ve ever caught a man f*cking a woman, and it’s . . . hot. It’s nothing like Reading them while they f*ck me. Of course, I’m not here on a hedonistic vacation. Each moment I spend watching this, a double moment is subtracted from my Depth—because that’s how Reading works. Eugene explained that we share the time with the target. I guess that means that on some level, everyone can get into the Mind Dimension when touched, but non-Readers are pulled in only enough for us to Read them.

I fast-forward Victor’s memories a few minutes into the future.

We’re approaching the table and noticing the girl. She’s the prodigy we’ve heard so much about, the only female katala we’ve ever met—though, to be fair, we met most of those card-shark shysters when doing our time in the all-male Gulag.

We look at her, this girl who’s squeezed so many people dry at our establishment. She has the cheekbones and nose of Russian nobility. Someone in this girl’s lineage must’ve survived the October Revolution back in 1917. Her features have a slight sharpness to them, along with an air of dignity. It’s a contrast to the matreshka-like round face of someone like Vera, who looks like a common Russian farmer’s daughter—and probably is.

With those big blue eyes, long eyelashes, and dark waves of hair, this girl reminds us of our daughter’s latest pictures. Only Nadia looks much more innocent than this one, we think with a mixture of longing and pride. Keeping Nadia innocent is why we made the sacrifice of not being in her life all those years ago. She probably doesn’t even know who we are, so there’s no point dwelling on it. And even if she knows, she’s in Russia, and we can’t go back there.

“It’s so smoky in here; it’s like someone set off a bomb,” the girl who reminds us of our daughter says.

That word—bomb—brings back flashbacks of that day in Chechnya when we lost two of our best comrades. Our heart rate increases, but then we calm down. The girl is just being a spoiled American princess. It happens to all the kids who arrive here. Her Majesty probably expected this illegal gambling club to enforce New York’s non-smoking laws.

I, Mira, separate my mind from Victor’s and feel a hint of disappointment. The fact that my words bring up his experience in Chechnya, which must’ve happened a long time ago, makes him unlikely to be the guy I’m looking for. Especially since he seems to have an aversion to explosions—almost a PTSD-type of reaction. It’s not a certainty that he wasn’t involved, of course, but it’s enough for me to clear him. I’d crossed people off my list based on less credible evidence.

Thus decided, I exit his head.



*



I’m back in the silent room. I’m not going to Read the other players’ minds. I’m going to conserve my Depth instead. I have two more things I have to do.

First, I take a look at the cards everyone else is holding. With the outcome of the next round in my head, I proceed to the second thing and run out of the room. Swiftly, I go through the dark corridor to the nearby bathroom. I check what I came here to check and confirm that it’s still there—the thing that’ll give me a chance when dealing with Shkillet. I’m a little calmer now and glad I took the time to explore this establishment in another Mind Dimension excursion; otherwise, I wouldn’t have known about things hidden in nooks and crannies.