Unforgettable: Book Three (A Hollywood Love Story #3)(85)

Don’t let him intimidate you, I told myself. “Please, Mr. Springer, let’s get on with the show.”

“Or do you like it this way?” He gave me the finger. I inwardly shuddered and said nothing. To my relief, the taping began. I pulled out a notebook and pen from my briefcase to take notes.

The game show was simple. The three naked couples competed in rounds of sex trivia questions that ranged from spelling words like cunnilingus to naming what country has the highest rate of gonorrhea. The couple with the most points at the end of each Q&A round got to ride the spinning Wheel of Pain and f*ck until they could no longer take their tortuous reward. Whatever couple lasted the longest on the Wheel by the end of the game won $10,000 and a trip to Vegas. I couldn’t believe people would actually subject themselves to so much torture and humiliation, let alone bare themselves and fornicate publicly. Equally horrifying to me was the millions of men who watched this shit. Though the Wheel of Pain’s ratings were the lowest on SIN-TV, it still attracted a sizeable audience. Why did Blake have to make this kind of programming? And why did he make me oversee it?

My stomach churned as I watched the show being taped. I wanted to close my eyes and cover my ears, but I had a job to do. A boss to please. The fornicating couples were as repulsive as the physical gags, which included having green slime poured over them, ice cubes dumped on them, and lastly, to my utter horror, a beehive tossed at them. Equally repulsive was Don Singer.


“Camera Three, move in tighter on the spick’s cock. Just f*cking do it.”

“Camera Two, for God’s f*cking sake, get a wide shot of the bees.”

“Camera One, stick it in Carla’s *. Now!”

“Give it to him harder, you horny f*cking fat bitch!” he yelled as Carla rode Carlos, both screaming and writhing as bees repeatedly stung every inch of their naked bodies. Including their genitals. A wave of nausea rolled through me. I actually had to turn away.

Don slid his chair over to mine and breathed down my neck.

“Having fun yet, Ms. McCoy? Does watching this make you wet and horny?”

Rage mixed with nausea. Keeping my head bowed, I bit down on my tongue and tried to focus on my notes. I couldn’t. Carla and Carlos’s shrieks of agony resounded in my ears.

“Get me out of here,” sobbed Carla as angry bees buzzed around her. “Please!”

Get me out of here. I’d had enough. Springer had taken things too far.

With all the bravery I could muster, I stood up and faced him.

“Mr. Springer, you need to stop production. This is unacceptable.”

He swirled around in his swivel chair. “What the hell are you talking about, bitch?”

“The bees are too much. The contestants can’t take it anymore.”

“It’s the f*cking season finale. You don’t know what the f*ck you’re talking about. I’m not shutting down production.”

Close to tears, I barked two words: “Do. It.”

Springer slammed his fist on the console so hard it shook and then shouted into a microphone. “Stop the f*cking wheel. And everyone get your ugly asses out of here.”

I sighed with relief as I watched the wheel come to a halt. Poor Carla and Carlos. Their bodies were covered with red welts from the bee stings, and they were violently shaking. The only, little comfort I had was watching Carlos wrap his swollen, mutilated arms around his whimpering partner. At least, he cared more about her than winning this sick game.

“I have a few other notes.” My voice faltered.

“I gotta get out of this hell hole. Give ’em to me downstairs.”

Having no choice, I followed him as he stormed out of the booth and headed back onto the set. Everyone was gone including the crew. Only a few buzzing bees remained. My nerves crackled with apprehension. I didn’t like being here alone with Don Springer. The faster I could give him my notes, the better.

Standing beside him before the Wheel of Pain, I opened my notebook. It shook in my hands. Before I could give a single note, he wrenched it away and flung it across the soundstage. His face reddened with rage.

“No uptight little bitch tells me to shut down my production.” He jerked me against him.

“Let go of me!” Writhing, I tried to free myself, but his grip was too powerful.

“Tell me, why the f*ck did you do that?” His fetid breath heated my face. I turned away from him. He pinched my cheek. “Answer me.”

I winced. “My boss, Blake Burns, gave me the authority to make decisions.”

“That f*cking prick.” He squeezed me tighter. He was hurting me. I could hardly breathe.

“The contestants were in too much pain.” The words barely made it out of my mouth.

“I’ll show you pain, you cunt.”

Only one person had ever called me that. That night. Sophomore year. Don cut the painful memory short and shoved me into the capsule on the wheel.

“What are you doing?” I gasped. My inner panic button sounded.

“You’re going for a ride, you little ho.”

The monster stomped on a large button on the floor and then, to my horror, hopped into the capsule. The wheel began to spin. As it ascended, he tore off my blouse and tossed it onto the set. I heard the pearl buttons ping across the floor as he slammed me down onto the cushion. His wretched eyes held me prisoner.