Series: The Community, third book in a trilogy
Release Date (Print & Ebook): October 9th
Length (Print & Ebook): 257 pages/68K words
Subgenre: paranormal, romantic suspense
Book contains: Violence, attempted sexual assault
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.
What Santino has to say about Sightlines: Anyone can be a hero. Rising up. Fighting back and revolutions. Coming together as a team despite differences.
Quotes from Santino about the book:
“Chase is one of the most vulnerable bad asses I’ve ever written.”
“I haven’t written a hero with a mouth as smart as Chase’s since In the Company of Shadows.”
“Chase is one of those heroes who thinks no one reasonable would ever be in love with him, and anyone who claims to be is probably lying.”
Praise for INSIGHT:
“A fast-paced cavalcade of psychics, intrigue, and a young man’s powerful discovery of his own nature.” — Jordan Castillo Price, author of Psycop
“Hooked me on page one! Another winner from one of the most appealing voices in romance.” — Suzanne Brockmann, New York Times bestselling author
Select brief quotes from the book:
“I may be hogtied mentally due to the drugs, but I still have a mean streak a highway wide and can hold my own in a fight.”
“You’re a punked-out ragey cynical bastard, but you have hero potential.”
“It was hard to offer empty platitudes when people always expected you to be dropping precog knowledge.”
“When it came to Elijah . . . Chase’s chest was like a cage with wide bars. Easy for the beautiful boy with the smart mouth and luminous eyes to reach in and touch Chase’s heart, even if those feelings never managed to get out.”
“Leave it to them to want to smash in the middle of a goddamn horror movie.”
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.
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.”
Gandalf jerked his head back toward his boys and lowered his voice to a gruff rumble. “’Bout that mess you just made.”
Chase opened his eyes and slid his hand away from Elijah’s face. Slowly, he raised it to touch his own cheek, and was amazed to find it damp. Elijah’s tears had become his tears. All that pain and hopelessness. The fear and all those building doubts at the end . . . had become his own.
He inhaled slowly, surprised when it shuddered audibly, and tried to take deep calming breaths. All the while, he stared down at Elijah. The pinched brow and dark circles. How exhausted and thin he was.
If Chase compared the torture he’d endured for his entire childhood, the mind games they’d played with Elijah might look like nothing. But that was wrong. The ability to turn someone as strong, as durable, as Elijah into a mess of self-doubt and guilt, actual fucking guilt, was incredible.
For the first time, Chase doubted his own self-assurance that Elijah would make it through this. The fear welling in Elijah’s chest became his own, and it drove Chase to lean down and brush his lips against Elijah’s temple. Then across each closed eye, the tip of his nose, and then his mouth.
Elijah made another soft sound, but he sighed through the kiss.
“Chase . . .”
Chase started to pull away, but Elijah’s hand shot up to hold him in place. There was strength in that grip that should have been impossible given the past two weeks, but Elijah’s fingers dug into him hard enough to cause pain. A desperate clawing grip that sent chills down Chase’s spine.
“Is this real?” Elijah whispered, his eyes cracking open. Only a glint of damp light-brown showed beneath his feathery lashes. “Are you really here this time?”
Chase’s relief was so powerful that a lump swelled in his throat. He tried to clear it, but it still came out shaky. “I’m here.”
Elijah opened his eyes wider, a trembling smile growing on his face. “Did I do good?”
The burning behind Chase’s eyes meant fucking nothing. He wasn’t going to cry. He wasn’t going to let Elijah see him break. He wasn’t.
“You did fucking perfect, baby.”
Chase looked away from Elijah’s furious gaze. It was hard to believe what he was saying after so much evidence to the contrary. “This isn’t the time. They’ll be in here—”
“Stop telling me about it being the right time! Whatever you think about me and about how I feel is wrong. Maybe I’ve said things out of anger in the past, but that’s because you do act like a bastard. Why would I tell you how much you mean to me when you sometimes act like I’m nothing but a convenient piece of ass.”
“Good point.” Chase pushed Elijah back. “Can we—”
Elijah surged forward to crush their lips together. Chase started to shove him away, to twist his face and end this, but when Elijah’s tongue flicked at his mouth . . . he was gone. Gone into the sea of warm sensation and pleasure. The peace of the man’s mouth and the familiar stirrings of arousal that made it clear his sex drive would never lower no matter how much they tortured him. Months of mind-fucking, and his body reacted to Elijah just as strongly as it always had.
He wanted him on the bed or on the floor. Screw it, he’d fuck Elijah up against the wall. Run his mouth all over soft brown skin, tangle his fingers in tangled hair, and look into eyes that always held a promise even though Chase had never allowed himself to fall too deep. Believing Elijah could ever want someone as warped as him was as good as believing in miracles. Telling himself he was just a stand-in, a big dick and a high libido with killer stamina, was easier.
But Chase hadn’t realized how much he’d miss Elijah’s mouth. After all this time, it was like heaven. Or whatever afterlife would take a freak show like Chase.
He slanted his mouth and kissed Elijah deeper, drinking in the soft little moan that followed, and enjoying how demanding Elijah was even now. They were surrounded by enemies, locked in a room with only a small hope that there were still no cameras, and moments away from pretending to be enemies. And yet . . . Chase wanted to rip down Elijah’s shorts and bury himself in his tight heat. Let him feel, with intense fucking, how much Chase wanted him. But then he’d have to swallow all the traitorous nonsense words that always wanted to fall from his mouth, because those words made it plain as day that he needed Elijah for a lot more than sex.
He tore away, heart jackhammering against his chest, and sucked in deep even breaths.
“I might have to hurt you,” he panted against Elijah’s mouth. “If they let me in the silo.”
“Until I . . . pretend to have turned?”
Chase nodded, still running his fingers through all that wild beautiful hair. “At the very least, I’ll have to treat you like you’re finally mine. And you’ll pretend you want it that way.”
“Who said anything about pretending?” Elijah licked his lips slowly. “If us fucking makes things more believable, I’m not going to complain.”
“Even if I treat you like my bitch boy? Tote you around like arm candy?”
“You can slap me around and fuck me in front of an audience as long as no one else lays a hand on me and the end game is us getting the hell out of here.”
Santino Hassell was raised by a conservative family but grew up to be a smart-mouthed, school cutting grunge kid, a transient twenty-something, and eventually transformed into a grumpy introvert and unlikely romance author with an affinity for baseball caps. His novels are heavily influenced by the gritty, urban landscape of New York City, and his desire to write relationships fueled by intensity and passion.
He’s been a finalist in both the Bisexual Book Awards and the EPIC Awards, and was nominated for a prestigious RITA award in 2017. His work has been featured in BuzzFeed, Huffington Post, Washington Post, RT Magazine, and Cosmopolitan Magazine.
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