Page 56 of Their Cruel Love

“Well.” Marcus considers the question. His legs are spread broadly, manspreading like men do, and he picks up his towel and scrubs it through his damp hair. I consider staring athiscrotch, just to, well, point out the double standard but, no. “If we were worried about bugs, here is less likely to have them, and there is background noise. So I vote for here.”

“Right. Agreed.” Razor pulls his lounge even close to ours. “First. That USB?” He waggles his eyebrows.

“You would ask that first. Simple.” I open my hands. “My friend is an IT expert, and he codes. That USB will help us extract relevant info from a computer, if I find one, then send it to the internet, providing it is connected.”

“What if there is no internet? It just stores it on the stick?”

“Some. I’m not sure what or how much it stores.”

“So that’s your pussy drive covered.”

I groan at Marcus’ lame joke, then Razor speaks up.

“I have something new. I almost forgot that a waiter said something to me at the end of the dinner, then I found this tucked under my plate.” He reaches back and pulls a small,folded note from his shorts, unfolds it. “I don’t know what this is, except for a list of two letters. Here.”

He spreads it flat then stares at it for a second longer, as if there is something symbolic about this paper. I might be over-reaching there. Razor holds it out so we can read it, in the middle between our chairs. A printed column runs down the page and he keenly eyes me. Does he expect me to say something, see something?

One pair of letters stands out and I touch the spot. My hand is shaking, which is stupid. This may not mean anything.

“Hey, it’s okay.” He squeezes my hand in reassurance. “I noticed that, Phoebe, but it is only two letters. They might be initials, but they don’t have to be.”

“I guess not. Still M.D.” I murmur. “Those are Milli’s. And all of these are crossed out.”

“That doesn’t mean she’s dead. Even if this is her,” Marcus hurriedly adds the latter.

I only grunt, and he gestures then beckons. “Come here.”

Muttering, “You just want me there because I’m naked,” I go to him and sit beside him. The lounge creaks.

Marcus wraps an arm around my waist. “I admit you being naked is a plus.”

“Moving on,” Razor says. “The waiter said this place is scaring him, and that he was leaving me a note. I didn’t see him put this on our table though.”

“He said that? Wow.” I shrug. Marcus’ arm does feel good around me. I lean into him some more. “I missed it too. I couldn’t see past the blindfold.”

“Thank you, Sherlock. So we have a weird list and a scared waiter. I guess that’s it until I can ask him what this is. Marcus, the ruins up there, behind us, you didn’t say much about it last night.”

“It was quite a hike getting up there.” His voice rumbles directly to my ear from where I’ve momentarily rested my head on him. His skin is damp, but so am I. Whether intentionally, or not, his hand that was at my hip drifts lower to cup the side of my ass.

“Should we go up there too?” I think I will anyway, with or without them. “This island must be small. Is there much on the other side past the hill?”

“Just a sheer cliff and some small inlets that’d only drown you if you made it to them. The surf would pull you under. Maybe to the right side of the hill, there could be a path? I didn’t look there.”

So much about this island seems connected to death. Or to kinky sex.

Marcus keeps going, listing things as if he’s trying to remember what he saw. “So there was that padlocked trapdoor, pretty much in the middle of the foundations of an old tower. A block and tackle that is modern. Nothing much else.” He shakes his head, clearly thinking. “Nope. That was it.”

“If we force the padlock…” Razor muses. “No. It would be obvious. Maybe leave it until the last day here.”

“Yes. Or if either of you can pick a lock, without tools?” The men shake their heads in answer. “Hey, just so you know, I’m glad you’re willing to believe me on this. A nightmare isn’t much.”

Marcus turns and looks down at me. “Confession time. I’m not a great believer in the paranormal and there is also what your stepmother said. They have part of a film. And your friend is missing.”

And her initial might be on a death list. “I can’t fault you. I wasn’t a believer until this. I’m still not sure I am or want to be.”

He nods, soberly. “Understandable. I’ll keep an open mind. If anything else tees up with your dream, you might make me a believer. Razor? Thoughts?”

“About psychic dreams? I’m on the fence, teetering. I know more about Phoebe’s stepmother. Emma Bartholemew is hard as nails. I’ve known her for years.” There is an intensely serious tone in Razor’s voice, which is new. “I guess I trust her? Though I know both of you have reasons not to. She and Hulk are…were a big part of the CNC frat being functional. I’ve seen wealth fuck up so many of them.” He smiles at us. “Sorry. I’m just working through my thoughts.”

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