Page 24 of Bears Not Included

The vibrations pick up. My clit sizzles with heat immediately and is soaked in my wetness. My hips move as much as they can given my restraints, my body soars then drops, and I come with such brutal agony that my body is divided between shame and pleasure. But it’s shame that wins the race when the vibrations stop completely.

“I hate you,” I scream all around me. “I hate you.”

Giant mountains of ignominy shroud me in. The men behind the camera saw me do this. They reduced me to this—someone with no pride and strength. Someone with no control over her body. I can’t even put into words what they made me do because I can’t believe I just made myself come on a chair while they watched. I begged them to help me come.

“You’re fucking beautiful.”

I almost don’t hear those words, and I’m sure I imagined them.

“Let me go at once,” I say so clearly and harshly.

“Still one more thing, pretty girl.”

My gaze shifts to the bed as I’m released from the cuffs.

“You know the drill. Just the three beds left now.”

“If you choose the first bed, you’ll be restrained and left to die. There’s no way out of those restraints. It will be a slow death.

“If you choose the second bed, you will need to get under the covers and just lie there. Your death should be swifter than the first bed. You see, once you’re snug, we’ll press a button, and you’ll be sealed inside the… plastic and suffocate.”

Who are these murderers? How sick in the head do they have to be to come up with all this?

“The third bed won’t kill you, Livia.”

After everything they’ve put me through, I wonder if I made the wrong choice from the start. I should have chosen a swift death instead.

Still, I move toward the third bed.

“Good choice. Lie in the middle of the bed, on your back, and place your palm on the x marked on the bedding.”

I do as I’m told. What could be worse than me milking my breasts into a bowl and making myself come on a chair? My nudity still makes me sick to my stomach, but I don’t do anything to cover my pussy or my breasts. I just want to go home.

The instant I’m in the position, I’m startled when I feel a set of cold metal cuffs, like the ones the police use, clip over my wrist.

I jangle my arm and find myself yet again bound.

What is this? What is going to happen to me now?

Chapter Twelve

Deacon

They say if you smell something burning when there’s no smoke, you’re going to die. The only thing I smell is disinfectant. And it’s fucking rancid. The only thing I see is blinding white light, and the only thing I hear is the constant beep of a machine.

It’s entrenched in my head and swirls around my gut like a constant companion. Only he’s a fucked-up jester who mocks me with every breath I take.

Is this me paying for my sins? Well, the joke is on me, then. I spent my whole life training for this position. Killing hundreds of men was my initiation to earn the respect as one of the heads of the Ursid Syndicate. Because that’s what we are. That’s what’s in our blood. We’re killers.

Our descendants believe in personal deliverance, which is why our syndicate is the most powerful in the world. We don’t have assassins to take care of the people who are in our way. We are the assassins ourselves. And in our line of business, there are always people standing in our way who need to die almost every other day.

But it took one minute, and now I can’t sleep at night. Guilt ravishes me, and I can’t fucking undo my past. I’m stuck here, and I fucking hate it. It’s been a year since I last killed someone. As if stopping who I am would be enough to repent. It’s too late for me now.

Callen and Mason have been taking care of business while I merely exist. But even Mason is going through something right now, so most of the business has fallen on Callen’s shoulders.

We’ve been trained to be emotionless, and now we don’t know how to handle our personal fucking business.

Life is a stupid thing, and then we die. I’m ready to die. But I’m also an arrogant bastard, and I won’t go looking for it. Thousands of men will sell their left nut for a chance to blow my head off my shoulders.

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