Page 14 of Bears Not Included

Okay, first the statue, now this? Does he really think we’re going to have some sort of orgy with him before we discuss business? Does he think we’re going to wet our cocks on pussy that he’s been inside of?

Our cocks are fucking sacred. Our cum is fucking sacred. We’re the heads of the Ursid Syndicate; that says it all.

He doesn’t need to know the shit I’m going through right now about the quality of blood that runs through my veins.

One of Yenin’s minions comes into the room then and whispers something in his ear. Clearly, he doesn’t like it, and he punctuates the man’s message with a bullet between his eyes. Two of his bodyguards immediately remove the body. We don’t even blink.

“I go through a whole fucking lot preparing for this party, and that ungrateful bitch slut can’t make it because no one knows where she’s at?” He says it as if he’s asking himself a question, and he’s really angry about the answer.

He takes a hit of coke, does some sort of dance on one leg, then nods to himself.

“You don’t want the girls? How about a show?”

He commands his men to lead the three women to the stage located in the center of the room. He lifts a bag of even more coke and waves it in the air.

“Best performance gets this whole bag. Now fuck,” he orders the women.

I have no clue what handbook this guy read, but it went something like this. Inflict fear with a bear mauling and eating a girl. Don’t forget to starve said bear for three to thirteen days to really make it gruesome.

If that doesn’t work, impress them by showing off the pedigree of the women you have in your harem. Some English aristocrat's daughter. A fucking senator’s ex-wife so high, her eyes are crossed. An African princess who looks like she wants to commit murder but is also suspiciously afraid.

Offer them to your guests.

If that doesn’t work, have those women fuck each other on the stage. Refer to Chapter Six for the erection of a stage in every room. This is a must to show the size of your dick.

“Bite her,” Yenin barks. The English lady bites the senator’s ex playfully on her nipple. “Harder,” he shouts. “Harder.” The senator’s ex is now screaming and trying to squirm away, pulling the English lady’s hair, but the English lady doesn’t let go. She wants that bag of dust.

He keeps looking at us for cues on how he’s doing. I'd suggest he douse his dick in gasoline and set the little thing on fire if he wants any kind of reaction from us. We’ll definitely chuckle at that.

He keeps giving them more and more instructions, and after whipping each other almost raw, they’ve now formed a chain, eating each other’s asses.

Deacon can’t hold his patience anymore, and I’m ready to fall asleep. It’s only Callen who is logical enough to know we need to stick around. It would take us a few days and too many lives lost before we get to the real snitch in our organization, but if we endure a little more time in this prick’s company, we’ll have the name of the person who dared to cross us in hopefully a few hours.

“You don’t take me seriously, do you?” Yenin asks Deacon, his face arranged in confusion, like, how could we not take him seriously? He doesn’t wait for an answer before he continues. “You think I’m a... what do you call it, a loose cannon? Maybe you’re right. I will learn,” he says, nodding before he turns his attention to the women on the stage. “Fuck off,” he yells at them. “Fuck off. Each one of you. Fuck. Off.”

While they’re scrambling back behind the curtain, Yenin smooths his hair back and talks in a calm voice.

“I’m getting married, you know. She was supposed to be here to meet you, but she couldn’t make it. You’re invited to my wedding, of course. It’s going to be a spectacle. She’s beautiful, pure, innocent, and mine.” His tone veers off the trajectory, and he’s back to his maniacal self. “I can’t wait to shove my cock inside her virgin cunt. If she doesn’t bleed for me, I’m going to chop off her clit and her head and send them to her father,” he finishes, then laughs.

But then the strangest thing happens to us. Our phones go off.

Chapter Eight

Livia

I force myself to calm down. I have to think rationally here.

I let my hand fall away from the doorknob, then try again. With a firm grip, I turn the handle slowly, first in one direction, then in the other, and still nothing happens.

Maybe that doorknob is just for decorative purposes. Immediately, my gaze runs over the entire width and length of the door, looking for a latch, button, or anything else that would open the door.

When I find nothing, I start to run my fingers over the wood, hoping that there’s a secret lock somewhere, all while trying not to panic.

I step back and try to reevaluate things. Surely there aren’t any hidden, secret mechanisms that would open the door. It doesn’t go with the setting of the house if I brush aside the fact that it has electricity, but I’m desperate now, so maybe it just means the knob is jammed. That’s all. It’s an old house. It makes sense.

I try the handle again and jiggle the head of the bear. Firm, light, fast, slow. And nothing gives. I swirl around and eye the whimsical home before I face the door again. I’m going to have to find a key.

And then it hits me—the strangeness of it all that’s been hovering at the back of my mind, where the makings of a full panic attack also brew. There is no keyhole through which a key would fit. There are no screws I can undo to remove the whole handle or the whole door.

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