Page 61 of Their Cruel Love

“Or I can add a few decorations to her.” Marcus lays his hands on my shoulders and squeezes. I’m between the two of them being talked over. It seems a habit of theirs, but I am touched that they’ve been so desperately looking for me. My apologies seem too little.

“What decorations are these?” Razor asks. A world of threat prowls in those few words.

Shit, what are they cooking up now?

“Ummm.” I intend to say more but Razor muffles me with his hand, then holds the back of my head so I can’t dodge.

“Go on,” he says.

“Well.” I can tell Marcus is leaning down as close he can get, for his words are sifting through my hair to my skin, sending erotic tingles flitting and zigzagging through me. Spine, breasts, body, and clit are alight, highlighting me with his neon filth. “I was dreaming of such fucking devious things.”

I gasp as his fingernails sink into my skin. With his words and touch, I’m thrown into fantasizing.

His wet tongue luridly curling around my nipple, flicking the tip as his teeth bite my flesh and tease me.

And hurt…

And tease.

“Show me.” Razor turns me in his arms, traps me against his chest.

I breathe hotly into his hand, through cruel fingers draped across my nose, mouth, and chin. I’m so easily turned to fire and lust. So quickly have I been rerouted from detective to fucktoy. Marcus squats and begins to rummage in his bag. He removes scissors, lays them on the floor, then rope, then clamps. I tremble, hungering for whatever tortures they might subject me to.

25

Marcus

I cannot tell them the severed fingers are real.

I pull a few more things from my bag, slowly, while I reconstruct what happened.

That the guard let me go past him says he didn’t know this. Yet the fingers are being kept in the freezer of the fucking kitchen of this place.

The staff must know. Mustn’t they?

Which means the guard might have. Are they flaunting it? How many are involved?

Or did I imagine what I saw? One was flesh inside, bone beneath frozen muscle and skin, not frosting. I snapped it in half, then placed it back where it came from.

I was fast. Theymight not realize.

Who can I trust here? Did they want us all to come? I’m not even sure of Razor now. He seemed to agree too easily.

Is it a trap for me or for Phoebe? For her, most likely.

That is, if I’m right about the finger. I should go back tonight and check. I need to try the phone as often as I can.

The only other person I’m sure of is Phoebe. This place, this entire idea, revolves around her finding her friend. Her nightmare with its connection to the photo is so crazy I can almost believe it to be a premonition. She hasn’t invented it. Why would she?

Plus I know her. I may have hated her for years, but I know her.

I trust her and myself. And Emma Bartholemew?

It’s bizarre, but I may be compelled to trust her too. If she’s playing us false, has lured her daughter-in-law here to have her murdered…

But that would be fucking nonsense even for her, bitch-faced, conniving monster that she is.

I still cannot tell anyone else about the finger. I need more time. I need to think.

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