Page 28 of Bears Not Included

In all my life, I’ve never seen men like this before. I go to school and see only student-type boys. My father is in his late sixties, and so are the business associates he occasionally hosts for dinner. The guys I see at coffee shops, on the streets, where I work as a waitress and even in my imagination when I secretly indulge in one of Faith’s romance novels look nothing like the men around me.

I’m beyond stunned at their presence.

Dressed in suits clearly cost fortunes, they stand over six feet tall, their shoulders and chests so broad, and their thighs so sculpted that I know instinctively beneath their clothes they’re ripped, with possibly not a gram of extra fat on their bodies.

With their dark hair and dark eyes rimmed with gold, my breath is taken away. They’re immaculately groomed, and the scent of their fresh, expensive cologne mixes with the scent of body and a shameful flush coats my skin.

They’re so perfect. So strong. So indescribably handsome, my body quivers. There’s nothing soft about them. Nothing sweet or gentle. How do people like them exist?

But then a moment of relief washes over me. Oh, dear god, they’re going to help me. My mouth forms the plea, but my mind shuts it down immediately as I connect one unbelievable dot to another.

But then my brain glitches. Realization dawns like lightning, and I’m given such intense mental whiplash that I’m dizzy.

I recognize their faces. The whole world knows who they are. They’re the world’s richest men, worth more money than I could ever, ever imagine. They’re the CEOs of... They’re the CEOs of Ursid Enterprises.

Ursid Enterprises.

Ursid.

My insides twist and strangle me. I never, in a million years, would have made that connection. Their logo is a bear.

If fear started to make my blood freeze up, I have no idea what level I’m on now if my body feels as if it is melting in rivers of lava that now run through my veins.

For dangerous, shocking moments, I’m paralyzed by what envelops my gaze.

But these men are my captors, and when I get past the mesmerizing look of their bodies, and their faces, and who they are in the world, I see that beneath their veneers lies unmistakable danger.

I struggle to swallow the lump of trepidation in my throat or conceal the full-body tremble that wrecks me all over again. I scoot upright against the headboard of the bed, while still cuffed to the side, and press my legs together so tight I can’t breathe. Using my free arm, I wrap it around my body—anything to hide my nakedness and my defenselessness against them.

My gaze lifts tentatively, and I’m completely struck down again. How could they be real?

Instantly, I knew they weren’t kind men. Or men who would help me and remove one of their jackets to cover up my nakedness while another uncuffs me and the third gathers my backpack so that I could be on my way.

They’ll be the last men I see before I die at their hands.

Deacon Walsh. Callen Andrews. Mason Blackstone.

“You know who we are,” Callen Andrews says softly, his voice deep but also like silk, as if he could strangle you while soothing you. It feels as if he’s looking right into my soul and sees my emptiness.

“Please, just let me go. I won’t tell anyone. I swear.”

“Won’t tell anyone what?” Mason Blackstone asks. He moves to the table where the three bowls are laid, but it’s like watching a predator move—lazy but with deadly stealth.

I’m disgustedly aware that one of the bowls contains milk from my breasts. But nothing prepares me when he picks up a spoon and dips it into the liquid, and then without severing eye contact with me, he sucks the back of the spoon.

I want to die. My body sizzles, my pussy throbs tenfold, and my breasts feel as if he licked them the same way he liked the spoon.

I force myself to be coherent, but I’m so overwhelmed by their presence that words fail me.

“I… that you’re… that you’re the descendants of...”

Not recovered from the duress that Mason Blackstone has put my body under, my gaze shifts to Callen. With his hands in his pants pockets, he strolls over to the chairs, then stands behind the third one.

He leans his tall frame over and, with his finger, swipes at the wet stain I left behind on the wood. My heart threatens to run away with me. Juices flow from the deepest part of me to my folds, then drip onto my thighs. Onto the bedding.

My nerves crumble and melt as Callen sticks his tongue out and licks my essence off his finger. My body betrays me horrendously, and I don’t know who I hate more. Them or me.

“We really don’t care, Livia, who knows about our ancestors or what they were. It’s never been a secret,” Callen says.

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