Black Bear Rising: A BWWM Paranormal Romance (Black Bear Saga Book 1)

by Wilson, Tia

  “You’re too kind,” Grace said. “Do you want to head back?” she asked Anne.

  “Sure thing. The walk has worked up an appetite for some of Al’s waffles. I think I could eat a stack of them,” Anne said.

  “I could do with some too. I didn't have anything to eat this morning I was in such a daze. I sat around thinking of Tom and staring into space for most of the morning. If you hadn’t of come and got me I would have spent the day in a funk,” Grace said.

  “That’s what friends are for,” Anne said smiling.

  They headed back down the hill towards town. The forest was silent as they passed by the thick foliage crowding the sides of the road. The air was cool as the sun was blocked out by the overhanging canopy of the trees. Anne stopped and sniffed the air her eyes wide. Her whole body stiffened as she moved her head side to side inhaling the air. “Whats wrong?” Grace asked.

  “I don't know. Somethings not right. Lets get moving,” Anne said picking up the pace. They started to speed up and Grace could feel panic start to rise within her. What had Anne picked up that she hadn't Grace wondered. She could see the clearing ahead, another minute or two and they would be out of the forest.

  Gravel crunched behind them and they both jumped and Grace let out a frightened whimper. They turned around and standing behind them in the middle of the road was a man with a scarred face and one damaged and unseeing eye.

  “Ladies, don't take another step. I have three rifles trained on you right now and if one of you as much as twitches my guys have orders to shoot,” Nasak Tresode said.

  Grace looked wide eyed and frightened at Anne who nodded her head.

  “Listen to your friend. She can smell the rest of my group, she knows they are out there,” said Nasak.

  “I could scream and the whole town would be out searching the woods for you,” Anne said through gritted teeth.

  “Try me. It will be the last sound you make before we blow your head off,” Nasak said.

  Anne edged in front of Grace, putting a barrier between her and Nasak. Grace could feel her body awash with the surge of adrenaline, her muscles felt like tense piano wires and the thought of turning and running was flashing in her mind, the only thing holding her back was what would happen to Anne.

  “What do you want,” Anne said in a low rumble. Grace could feel heat coming off Annes body in waves, a dry warm heat of a blast furnace. She's going to change Grace thought, her feet rooted to the spot.

  “I want what any child who has been lost for an age wants. I want to go home,” Nasak said and glanced towards the forest.

  Grace heard a buzz like an insect whizz by her ear and she saw a metal dart with a feathered yellow end dig into Annes neck. Anne turned to Grace, already going down on one knee as her eyes began to darken and her skin pulse on the edge of transformation. “Run,” she said in an animalistic growl.

  Grace turned and ran, her legs freed from the concrete shackles that had held her in place. If I can just make it to the edge of the forest I might be seen by someone, her panicked mind screamed. All sound seemed to be extracted from the world as only the sounds of her heavy breathing and footfalls echoed in her ears. She got a few steps and thought I’m going to make it. The sound of a dart whistling through the air broke the spell as it dug into her neck in a burning pinch. I feel like I’m running through glue Grace thought as her legs began to slow down. She turned around and her legs gave out under her and she hit the ground hard. The cracked gravel of the road dug into her cheek as she felt the debilitating effects of the tranquilliser course through her body.

  Nasak pushed Anne with his boot and her body lay motionless. He nodded towards the tree line and walked towards Grace. She moved her lips and nothing but a weak moan like air being released from a tire came out. Nasak looked down at her and then knelt down beside her. His damaged eye stared ahead while his other one looked down at Grace. “Don't fight it,” he said stroking her cheek. “It will soon be over.”

  Grace could feel her heart beating as if it was buried under layers of cotton, it felt disconnected from her as if it beat in someone else's body. She tried to move her arm to push his hand away from her face, her hand twitched feebly by her side. I’ve been poisoned and I’m going to die in these woods and never get to see Tom again, she thought as she stared into the scarred and bearded face of Nasak. Her vision began to dim as she saw movement at the roadside. People emerged from the undergrowth and her mind went into free fall as twisted aberrations left the woods and walked towards Nasak. Creatures more beast than man walked over to their leader and stood watching Grace as the tranquilliser dart overpowered her body. Grace looked up at the twisted and mutated faces of the creatures watching her. I am in hell she thought to herself, before the darkness engulfed her and everything turned to black.

  TO BE CONTINUED…

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  Chapter 1

  “Is she dead?” asked the older of the two men.

  “No Clay, she isn’t, but she came real close,” replied the other man barely concealing his disgust. “What do you want me to do with him?” he asked motioning towards the naked body lying on the bed and half covered by a blanket. The dead bodies foot was sticking out from under the quilted duvet

  “Dispose of him and leave no trace of us in this room,” Clay replied cooly while getting up from the bed. He was naked with a blood stained towel wrapped around his waist. Two large welts stood out on his chest and he admired them in the large mirror on the wall. “He had some fight in him, you’ve got to admire that” he said in a half whisper to himself. Clay slicked back his grey hair which still had some of its original colour at the temples and smiled at his reflection. It was the kind of smile that made people trust him almost immediately, “Hey we’re in this together,” the smile implied, it opened doors and wallets and its practised warmth was the last thing that several young men and women saw before the light dimmed on the last few frightened seconds of their lives.

  Clay went in to shower leaving his longtime fixer Brad Johnson to clean up his mess once again. Brad slid the heavy duty holdall out from under the bed and unzipped it. He laid out his tools in neat rows on the single bed in the corner. Across from Brad the young African American woman lay sprawled naked on the bed, her head twisted at an awkward angle. A thin rivulet of blood ran from the corner of her mouth and stained the duvet in an ever expanding blood blossom. Her chest rose and fell in raspy inhalations. She had high cheekbones and deep brown skin, her looks had once been described as interesting by an old boyfriend. My God Brad thought to himself she cant be much older then twenty one. He removed an extra duvet from the wardrobe and draped it over her naked body in a futile attempt to somehow make himself feel better. She was lucky, if she had of seen Clays face she would never have left this room alive. Brad rolled the word lucky around in his mind. Did luck really apply to this situation? The girl and the young guy had both been out cold just the way Clay liked it and the young guy now dead in the corner had somehow floated up to consciousness from his drugged out state and seen Clays face. The young guys fate was sealed as soon as his eye lids fluttered open and saw Clay.

  Lately Brad had been losing his stomach for the job. At first he tried to tell himself he was going soft as he got older. That didn't work and with each passing month he worked for the mighty Clay Robertson he felt the rot take hold in his soul ,eating away at the timbers until he could feel an imminent collapse pressing at the back of his skull like the cold steel of a snub nosed revolver.

  The noise of running water and Clay singing loudly to himself as he showered filled the bedroom like a veil of white noise. The boisterous singing chilled Brad but he was also thankful for some sort of background noise as he went about rolling the dead body of the male prostitute onto a large square of heavy duty plastic he had
laid out on the floor. The staccato rhythm of the high powered shower spray hitting the marble floor, Clays off key singing and the start of a black cloud migraine helped to block out the grisly sounds as Brad broke elbow and knee joints on the corpse.

  Sweat beaded on his forehead and stung the corners of his eyes as he folded the body , wrapped the plastic around it and rolled it into the large carrier bag. He then ran a cloth over any surface they may of touched and threw the cloth into the bag. He gathered up Clays clothes and the blood stained towel and threw it in with the body. Brad had left a new suit hanging in a bag on the back of the bathroom door for Clay to change into. Later that night he would bury the body and everything else in a forest out of town, in a sad desolate place where only black deeds were performed in the darkness of night.

  When he finished wiping everything down he sat on the edge of the bed staring at the half open bag and refused to look away from it. From this angle all he could see was a corner of heavy plastic sticking out and a bunch of clothes. What was once a young man, Brad thought to himself is now nothing more then trash to be buried and forgotten about. He needed a drink, hell he needed a whole bottle. The skin of his lips tingled at the thought of the first burning sip of whiskey flash frying and coating his insides as he swallowed it. That first sip, nothing could top it. Brad squeezed his eyes shut now hoping for the sickening pain of a migraine to burn him up. He hadn’t touched a sip of booze in fifteen years and knew nothing good would come if he started up again. Lately its call had been getting stronger and stronger as Clay pulled him closer into his sickening world. Brad needed the pain of this migraine to obliterate any thoughts about booze. There was a time in his life when he would feel a greasy tightening of his stomach when he felt the first fingers of a migraine flex in his brain, now he was wishing for them and almost embracing the deathly hum behind his eyes.

  Clay came out of the bathroom in a cloud of steam. He wore an expensive tailored suit, his shoes shone to a high buff and his hair was perfectly in place. Theres nothing a shower and an expensive suit wont hide Brad thought grimly to himself. Clay looked every bit the slick politician he played during the day and nothing like the crazed sadist who had recently snuffed out one life and probably came close with the other

  “Lets get out of here,” Clay said surveying the room.

  Brad checked the corridor and nodded that it was all clear. “I’ll see you down at the car, I’ve a few more things to clean up,” he said.

  Clay left without even glancing back. He left the room as any other guest did on countless other days, sure in himself that what ever trace of his was left behind would soon be erased by Brad.

  The task of final clean up went swiftly and with a measured and practised ease. The bathroom was wiped down and all towels thrown into the bag. Once everything was clean Brad tore off his thin latex gloves and threw them into the open bag, zipped it up and locked it with a small padlock. He glanced around double checking and everything looked good. He dragged the heavy bag over to a metal frame with wheels propped up close to the door and attached it to the bag with some bungee cords. He took a name badge hanging from a bright pink lanyard off a hook on the back of the door and hung it around his neck. It declared his name as Simon and listed the name of a fictitious conference he was attending.

  Brad leaned against the wall breathing deeply from the exertion and looked over at the girl. She looked so young and was probably around the same age as his own daughter who he hadn't seen in close to fifteen years. How does a girl like her get mixed up in a seedy world like this he wondered. He could imagine the kind of sleazy guys who would chip away at a young girl to get her to do this kind of work. Maybe this one had some sort of drug habit that she had to feed he rationalised to himself. He squeezed his eyes shut and massaged his temples. Thinking about the girl on the bed as something more than a piece of trash to be fed into the burning furnace of Clays desires was not something that would help him sleep at night. Brad knew he was paid not to think and not to see the depraved things that Clay liked to indulge in. Lately the money was not enough for Brad and growing a conscience in his line of work could be dangerous business. Brad stowed his emotions and his face froze into a stony visage, a look that had scared many ,a tweaker and reprobate when faced with it. He was a walking monolith, an unfeeling stone statue as he left the room and the unconscious girl behind.

  Chapter 2

  Lana Jones eyes began to flicker as the first woozy waves of reality washed over her. She stared up at a circular brown stain on the ceiling as the corners of her vision pulsed. Her first thought as her muddled brain slowly came out the fog of powerful narcotics was where the hell am I? Her arms and legs felt like lead pipes encased in heavy insulation as she slowly sat upright. Her throat was dry and raspy and felt bruised as she looked around. Part of the fog cleared and she remembered where she was. She was in a downtown hotel in a room booked in her name. This was the the fourth so called sleeping beauty gig she had taken in the last few months. Rich guys paid a premium to have her drugged and unconscious so they could live out whatever twisted fantasy they wanted. Lana had cried uncontrollably for nearly two days after the first time she did one. She continued to do them for the money and each time she swore she would never do it again. One of these sleeping beauty nights paid ten times more then a regular night with a client which she had been starting to hate doing more and more. She was desperate not to get kicked out of college, she couldn't face the shame if anyone found out about her father and his fall from grace and so had been forced to do all she could to raise money for her tuition fees. Only a few more times she promised herself and I will never have to do this again.

  Lana stood on shaky legs and checked herself out in the full length mirror. A bruise was already forming on her neck where the client had dug his fingers into her soft skin. The clients were not permitted to hurt the sleeping women and Lana tried not to think too hard about what was really stopping them from going too far. This was a kink like any other she told herself weakly. If she dug too deeply into the dark recesses of why these men choose to sleep with knocked out women Lana knew she would not be able to do another of these jobs. Two more this year and she would have the rest of her tuition paid for.

  Within a few minutes she had stiffly dressed and left the room. Every step down the corridor brought her closer to her payment and she could feel the drugs woozy effects wear off the more she walked and the further she got from the room. The ding of the elevator bell broke her out of her robotic state and the nagging shard in her mind made her turn around and return to the hotel room. She stood on the corner of the bed and looked up at the ceiling tile in the far right of the the room. It had been pulled back a little showing a tiny crack between the wall and the tile. Lana hooked her finger in to the crack and slid the tile back. Sitting on the cross brace was a small camera similar to the type people strapped to their helmets when doing parachute jumps or snowboarding. The camera had a wide angle lens and was angled to capture most of what would of went on in the room. Lana palmed the camera and slid the tile back into place and left the room. She headed back to her dorm to check the file.

  Sara Grant had her feet propped up on the desk and chewed on a pencil absentmindedly as she starred at her laptop screen. She nodded in Lana's direction when she entered the room, the pencil in her mouth had several deep bite marks on it and she added another as she slammed her laptop shut with an exasperated sigh. Sara was twenty two with short blonde hair in a pixie cut. Her fine boned features had fooled many a person into thinking she was a wallflower. When Sara entered a room people usually paid attention, she was loud, brash and oozed confident sexiness. Even when Lana felt at her most attractive she sometimes felt in Sara's shadow, the perky blonde bombshell and her interesting black friend.

  “Having trouble with the paper?” Lana asked.

  “Big time. My critique of the work is coming off as insincere. I don’t know, I'm writing myself into circles at the moment,” Sara replied.
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  Lana sat on her bed and kicked off her shoes while stretching.

  “Rough night?” Sara asked.

  “You could say that. I took another of those sleeping beauty clients. I feel like I need to wash my body and my mind out with industrial grade bleach,” Lana said.