“Will you beat me without knowing the reason?” That’s the question I ask when I go to clubs to seek out Sadists. Most men say no immediately. They see the flags my question raises and walk away. They’re the good guys. They’re the guys who adhere to safe, sane, and consensual. They wanna be aware of the risks and cause no harm. But I’m not looking for a good guy. I’m looking for punishment. The strobe lights hit me as I reach their table. The heavy, industrial music is deafening, and my head is swimming with images of grief, fire, and accusation. I hear the piercing tone of a machine letting me know that I have to tell my two kid brothers that our sister’s heart will never beat again. Maybe these two twin Sadists will help me. The only thing bigger than River and Reese Tenley is their reputation. They better not let me down. I ask my question. I ask if they’ll beat me without knowing why I want it. They give me a stone-cold onceover, and I don’t know if it’s River or Reese who responds. He has a menacing-looking tattoo on his neck. “Sure. It’s your funeral.”