Chapter Three
Yun
Putting my items away always felt wrong. It was like cutting a round pie into square pieces—it just made my bones itch.
Maybe it came from the fact that each time I did it—when I folded my socks and underwear, placing them in drawers, and hung my meager outfits—it was never long before I had to repack them.
Setting down roots had never worked for me, and each time I had to unpack, it reminded me of it. It hurt worse, having to repack it all, like tearing those roots from the soil.
Which meant that at the last two places I’d gone to, I’d failed to unpack at all. I’d seen no reason to.
Living out of a backpack was fine with me. I had a few outfits, my bag organized, clothing the type that didn’t wrinkle. It meant I didn’t need any time to get ‘settled in’ as Carter had put it. Instead, I’d used the time to explore the room.
It was nice. Not as nice as a few others I’d been in, of course. The output of a squad determined its financial compensation. Since this squad barely kept their registration active, it meant they didn’t make what the other, more famous ones did.
Of course, I didn’t mind that. I’d lived with little, needed even less, so this was more than adequate. A bed, a desk, a bathroom with a tub deep enough to have my knees and tits below the water at the same time. This was everything I needed and then some.
I checked the space for any signs of cameras, then added my one change that I always made—a new door handle with a lock only I had the key for. I’d learned this little trick after my second squad, who’d kept sneaking into my room after missions to steal my panties.
Sure, an esper could break the door down if they wanted, but this at least made me feel as though I had some control.
Carter might have told me it was my space, but I knew better than to believe any esper.
No one showed up as I made the change, the small screwdriver I kept in my bag making quick work of the job. Within two minutes, I had the old handle off and the new one on. A check that the key worked, and I shut the door again, satisfied with a job well done.
I found nothing questionable. The men were weird, sure, but they hadn’t struck me as dangerous.
Well, no more than any esper.
I went to the bedside table, my sleeping pills in hand. I didn’t appreciate questions, so I preferred to hide them.
When I pulled open the drawer, however, I slammed it shut immediately, as though that would stop my brain from processing what I saw.
I paused, letting my mind reset. Maybe when I opened it again, I’d be wrong.
I’d be happy to be wrong.
Except when I slid the drawer open a second time, gripping the small black pull—yep, still there.
Spread out like some pervert’s buffet were more sex toys and associated items than most adult stores kept on hand.
They weren’t tossed in all willy-nilly, either. Nope. Someone had carefully placed these. I could almost imagine them testing the layout.
Should the dildo go to the left of the nipple clamps? No, no, the right is better.
There were condoms, lube, vibrators of all shapes, sizes and type, dildos, clamps, wipes. I pulled open the cabinet below the drawer, unable to process it all, only to find that space also sullied with more of this shit.
Floggers were hanging, and more clamps—these on chains—along with masks, gags, blindfolds.
What the hell was wrong with these men?
I shut both the cabinet and drawer far more carefully this time, then shook my head and tucked my pills back into my bag. No way would I put my precious, innocent sleeping pills into that depraved den.
I’d made myself clear, hadn’t I? Just what the fuck were these men expecting?
Maybe they were left over from the last guide?
I shuddered as I pictured any guide stupid enough to let espers use things like that on them. Sure, I’d heard stories, heard guides talk about the ‘perks’ of a session, but I’d never once understood that drive.
Guiding was a part of life, a hated task that I had to complete. It wasn’t pleasant, and it sure as fuck wasn’t sexy.
Other guides might get wet from a session, but I was broken, snapped too early and unable to heal back into the normal form.
So if they thought this was what they were getting?
They were in for a fucking surprise.
A few hours later, the steps of the stairs didn’t so much as creak beneath my feet. I’d heard that when espers moved into a place, they overhauled everything. The structure usually needed to be reinforced to withstand the general life of an esper.
This meant that the construction was always top-notch.
Despite the fact that Reject Squad was fairly well mocked, it seemed they were no exception to that rule. When I reached the bottom of the staircase, I found the table already full.
The three I’d already met—along with one new face—sat along the two sides of the rectangular table, with an empty plate at the head, clearly meant for me.
Yeah, this looked exactly like an interrogation.
Not that it shocked me. Some squads were so happy to have a guide that they didn’t give a damn about details. Any guide willing to take on a squad like this deserved a bit of questioning, however.
Not to mention that there had to be a certain level of trust between espers and guides. They had to interact so much, had to put faith in one another. I didn’t much want to answer questions—nor ask them—but that didn’t mean I couldn’t understand the desire.
I headed over, ignoring the way they all stared at me, and took the spot obviously meant for me. When I sat, I peered at the food there—a sandwich and fries. Neither appear overly culinary but edible enough.
“The information they sent us said you didn’t have dietary restrictions,” Carter said. “Is there anything you don’t like? Anything we should get or avoid?”
I knew it really didn’t matter, but something about that felt like giving away trade secrets, like telling them things they didn’t need to know.
Sure, them finding out I hated carrots but loved apples probably wouldn’t hurt me, but I still had found that telling espers anything never worked out in my favor.
“Nothing. It’s all fine by me.”
Carter said nothing, but a glance in his direction said he didn’t believe me. Still, he shrugged, the same disinterest he often had. “You’ve met Kenyon and Ingram already.” He gestured at each man.
Ingram hardly looked up from his plate, but Kenyon offered an excited wave that didn’t all at fit the way he looked.
“This is Shear.”
And that one caught my full attention. The last member of the squad, the one I hadn’t met yet. I understood why, and for a moment, wondered if they’d hidden him on purpose to keep me from running out the moment I’d laid eyes on him.
He had eyes so bright blue that they could pass for neon.
He had dark, curly hair piled on top of his head in a messy bun, the sides of his head shaved, and stark angles on his face that would have been fantastic on the cover of a magazine but seemed like way too much in real life.
He was startling in his appearance, but even more so in the intensity of his gaze.
He didn’t say hi to me, didn’t seem to acknowledge me—just stared.
“She’s lying,” he said softly, his voice distant.
“About what?” Carter asked.
“Everything.” Shear blinked quickly, as though waking up, then peered down at his plate and picked at the items there.
“Stay out of my head,” I snapped when his words made sense. He must have been a mentalist, one of the rare espers capable of telepathy, of mind reading, of any number of scary-as-shit skills. I turned my gaze on Carter, anger thrumming through my blood. “You never said you had a mentalist here.”
“I figured you’d know who we had, and I didn’t think it would matter.”
I pressed my lips together, hating the way I felt violated by just that tiny bit of interaction. Mentalists were the worst. I’d only dealt with one, and after that?
I’d refused to take jobs that forced me to interact with them. If I’d known…
Then I’d have done nothing, since this was my only option. It was easy to be up in arms when a person had choices, but I sure as fuck didn’t.
So instead, I just cast another glare in Shear’s direction. “Don’t get into my thoughts.”
“They’re messy,” Shear said, his gaze down. “I don’t want to be in there.”
Yeah, well, neither do I.
At least we could agree on that.
“So, let me give you the rundown,” Carter said. “Kenyon is a healer, and Ingram over there is a stealth specialist.”
I nodded, though I had to admit it surprised me a bit. Kenyon was so boisterous, large and rather dumb, I’d assumed he was combat. Ingram, with his flashy tattoos, hadn’t struck me as stealth based at all. In fact, I couldn’t imagine that man blending in anywhere.
“Aren’t you going to ask me what I am?” Carter asked, a hint of false hurt in his voice.
“Why would I?”
“Curiosity?”
I made a point of rolling my eyes in as least a respectful way as possible. “It’s obvious. You have to be combat specialized. It’s the only thing missing to be a functional squad. Plus, given all the weapons were right behind your desk, it makes sense that you’d be the one using them.”
Carter grinned widely, and it seemed an honest smile for once. “Well, good to know we haven’t been saddled with an idiot.”
“If it was an idiot I could fuck, I’d prefer it,” Ingram added on.
Carter offered him an exasperated look, then returned his gaze to me. “On that subject, you’re sure about the whole no-touching thing? I mean, that’s a pretty hard line there. I’ve never seen a guide able to hold on to something like that.”
I shook my head in a quick jerk that caused my hair to spill forward from behind my ear. “Absolutely not. No touching at all.”
“What if you change your mind during?” Kenyon asked. “I mean, guides do that, right? They think they want one thing, then get into the mood halfway through.” The way he said it implied he’d experienced that before.
And he wasn’t wrong.
At least not about normal guides.
I just wasn’t normal.