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Chase Payne is a walking contradiction. He’s the most powerful psychic in the Community, but the least respected. He’s the son of the Community’s founder, but with his tattoo sleeves and abrasive attitude, he’s nothing like his charismatic family. No one knows what to make of him, which is how he wound up locked in a cell on the Farm yet again. But this time, the only man he’s ever loved is there too.

Elijah Estrella was used to being the sassy sidekick who fooled around with Chase for fun. But that was before he realized the Community wasn’t the haven he’d believed in and Chase was the only person who’d ever truly tried to protect him. Now they’re surrounded by people who want to turn them against their friends, and the only way out is to pretend the brainwashing works.

With Chase playing the role of a tyrant’s second-in-command, and Elijah acting like Chase’s mindless sex toy, they risk everything by plotting a daring escape. In the end, it’s only their psychic abilities, fueled by their growing love for each other, that will allow them to take the Community down once and for all.


EXCLUSIVE EXCERPT: Sightlines

Santino Hassell

BOOK SERIES: 

Santino Hassell’s The Community trilogy has come to an end, and you don’t want to miss the conclusion of this suspenseful paranormal romance! The trilogy is about three brothers who take on a psychic community that was meant to be a haven and turned into a nightmare after their leaders became consumed by lust for power. The brothers—the underdog, the scion, and the outcast—couldn’t be more different, but they come together for a greater good and find love along the way. Sightlines, the final book in the series, is now available and I have a sneak peek for you.

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Excerpt

Chase watched Elijah bust into the place like he owned it, but took his own time checking out the scene before he committed to an actual entrance. There sure as hell weren’t any motorcycles but I spied several trucks, family station wagons, and SUVs.

He walked inside to find Elijah shedding his scarf and hat as he spoke to a hostess. So far, no one was paying them any mind. The place was dotted with a good mix of customers—bearded daddies in leather, guys in heavy coats who sat alone but still somehow clustered together, and tired-looking parents with bratty kids. They all seemed bored or miserable, which made him and Elijah prime targets for people-watching as soon as they stepped in. It didn’t help that Elijah chirped that he was fine sitting at the bar. The hostess sat them smack-dab in the middle of the biker dudes and the trucker dudes.

“We couldn’t get a booth?” Chase muttered. “Fuck’s sake.”

“This is fine.” Elijah shrugged off his coat and made a big show of rubbing his arms to warm up. “We used to hang out at the bar all the time at Evo.”

“Yeah, because Evo was a fucking queer joint and this place is in the middle of Assfuck, New York.”

Elijah whipped open his menu and ignored the comment, but the people around them sure as hell didn’t. Chase glared back at the bikers as they openly sized him up. They were probably wondering what would give a scrawny white-haired queer dude in bummy-ass clothes the balls to talk trash that loudly. Funny, because he’d been trying to figure that shit out for his entire life.

The biker crew lost interest after a couple of minutes, and Chase glanced down at his menu. It was packed full of every possible item you would think of, but he had no interest in any of it. Even the smell of cooking meat no longer appealed to him. All the scents in the place had combined to create an overwhelming smell of food, but it churned his stomach.

“Okay,” Elijah said, slapping his menu shut. “I want a short stack with eggs, bacon, biscuits, and grits on the side. And a jug of coffee.”

“What the fuck?” Chase blinked at him skeptically. “You couldn’t just get some soup? We’re literally living on fifty bucks for the rest of our stupid-ass lives at this point.”

Elijah rolled his eyes again, all long eyelashes and tilting head movements. “First, that whole meal is like seven bucks. Second, if you think I’m going to hike the next fifteen or so miles to the Waterfront District without a full stomach, you’re—”

“Wait, back up, what’s that about a waterfront?”

Elijah paused with his feet on the bottom rung of the stool. He’d been about to jump down but was now staring thoughtfully at the scarred bar top. “I don’t know. It just popped into my head. I saw this two-story townhouse on . . .” Elijah chewed on his lower lip. “I just had it, but it’s gone now. I’ll keep thinking.”

“Yes, keep fucking thinking. I’ll feed you anything you want if warmth and comfort means visions popping into that pretty head of yours.”

Elijah grinned at him. “I don’t think that’s it, really. Well, maybe not. But . . .” He stepped the rest of the way to the floor and looked around quickly. His voice lowered. “I’ve been wondering if my gift is like yours, and maybe it responds better when I’m like . . . in emotional duress. Kind of like it needs to be triggered.”

“Would make sense. Mine is apparently triggered by me wanting to protect you, but so far you’ve been the one saving my ass since we hit the road.”

They looked at each other for a long moment before, with no warning whatsoever, Elijah stood on his tiptoes for a kiss. And because Chase gave exactly zero fucks, he kissed back with a low growl.

Elijah drew away with a mischievous grin, turned on his heel, and sauntered toward the bathroom. Chase knew that he was probably about to get stomped by some bikers, but he still couldn’t stop himself from watching Elijah’s ass as he walked away. How was it possible for Chase to be horny, cold, hungry, and getting ready to fight all at the same time? He was a bomb multitasker.

“Hey, you.”

Ah shit. Here it went.

Chase swiveled around on his stool to find the whole biker crew staring him down. One in particular, a big dude with pale-blue eyes and a beard long enough to make him look like red-haired Gandalf, had waltzed over to Chase. He was a total cliché in a leather vest, a grimy grease-stained ribbed shirt beneath, and leather pants tucked into monstrous shitkicker boots. He could probably kill Chase with barely any effort. Which meant he could also hurt Elijah.

Chase’s lip lifted in a snarl, and his hands closed into fists. That was as far as he got before the glass one of bikers was holding shattered in his meaty palm. Everyone exclaimed, drawing attention off Chase, but Gandalf the Red didn’t shift his gaze. He just nodded his head once, quirking his mouth up briefly, and said, “We should talk.”

“’Bout what?”

Gandalf jerked his head back toward his boys and lowered his voice to a gruff rumble. “’Bout that mess you just made. But we can save it until we’re in one of the booths you were crying about.”

Booths? Huh. This dude hadn’t been sitting close enough to hear that comment over the din of the restaurant, and yet he had.

Intrigue slid through Chase, and he felt himself nodding. “Yeah, okay, but don’t blame me when your buds think you’re trying to pick up some rough trade.”

Gandalf leered. “They wouldn’t be surprised, but your boyfriend is more my type.”

Chase didn’t try to hide his cringe face. “Okay then. But if you touch him, I will literally blow your fucking brain up. Just saying.”

“Yeah, I get the picture.”

Gandalf strode across the diner like he owned it, nodded at the hostess, and plunked his ass down in a booth. He folded his hands, pushed his shoulders back, and waited while staring Chase down. It was one of the weirdest things to happen in the past few months, but at this point who was Chase to challenge it? Especially when Elijah had said something would happen here.

Maybe big daddy Gandalf the Red was that something.

Or maybe he’d just kick their asses. Or offer them money for a blowjob.

Chase ran his tongue over his teeth, glanced around the room, and sauntered over to the booth. He spotted Elijah coming from the bathroom out of the corner of his eye, but didn’t turn his head. No way in hell was he breaking this Wild West–style glaring contest. It was already unfortunate that he was dressed like shit and drowning in a too-big coat.

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