Page 32 of Their Cruel Love

“Well. There it is. One big fat rudeno.” I swig some bubbly.Fuck him.

By the third or maybe fourth glass I’m even more sure. I will do this. I’ll sell the place and use the money to find her. But first, I will try one other way to contact that asshole. I drop onto the indoor sofa and thumb my way through the letters in Google search.

A quick search of his name plusantiques giftsturns up the name of his business. The map shows it’s near Kensington Gardens which seems upmarket. The imagery, though, that has me doubting. Buying into the CNC Fraternity is costly. How can he afford it from that one shop? Maybe I’m missing the good profitable stuff he does. Maybe he sells privately. It’s not as if I’m an expert in making money from antiques. TheAntiques Roadshowis my main source of knowledge.

Something is poking my rear on the sofa, and I fish it out from beneath a cushion.

Resting in my palm is a small shopping bag containing a silver-and-enamel mermaid wrapped in tissue paper. I remember this. Milli gave it to me the day she left for her adventure. I promptly lost it in the sofa. How caring of me.

I tip it out, my heart swelling as I marvel at the delicateartistry. There are minute scales on her tail, a belly button, a sweet smile. Milli put thought into this gift. The crazy thing is, I bought her an identical one from the same jeweler and gave it to her the same day. When I saw it in the display case, I knew it was meant for her. We’ve always had silly moments like this where we synch over emotional stuff.

Maybe this is why the nightmares are happening—because it truly is her.

I do not want that to believe that.

Tears well and blur my vision. I inhale, swiping across both eyes with the hand holding the mermaid.

I will find her. I must. Some problems get into your blood, sink in among those swirling red corpuscles, and they never let you go. Not chasing after them will leave you feeling like a worthless piece of humanity, fit only for pond scum. I’d never forgive myself.

A week later I sign the papers on the sale. That fast. I shake hands with Neill King, the old family friend who also sells real estate, wave as he heads out the door toward the elevator.

My family has too many old friends, and none of them are really my friends, but I trust him more than some rando picked from a list. “Six million is a low price,” he said, with my hand poised to scribble on the line. “You can get seven point four, and I told you so. Wait two weeks and it can be done. But you want a really fast sale…”

I did, and so I sold for six mill. The longer I take to start this rolling, the more likely bad things will happen to Milli. Two more weeks when it’s already been a month? No.

Something bad must already have happened. That conclusionis inescapable. The dread is a sick mess roiling in my stomach. It hurts badly when I imagine what could have been done to her. Is she buried, lying in a ditch, drowned at sea, fathoms under? I still have to try. The one good thing about the Marcus debacle is this. I’m back on track.

Still… The next day, I visit his antique shop and wander by, staring in the window, over the old furniture and the sculptures, across a landscape of ancient things.

After half an hour of strolling by, sipping coffee, and watching, I’m sure he isn’t even there. Whatever he does, it appears his father runs the store, day by day. If I tried tomorrow, I might find him here. I’m done with that. I’m so very done.

My last chance to mend things with him before I launch my attack on the CNC Fraternity has been blown away.

I scroll through my texts on the way home. There are invites to parties, from other students in my now-neglected course of studies. Three queries asking where I am, from other friends I made. Seth has sent me a text too. I leave that to read last because it’s likely important. I have a habit of procrastinating when it might be painful. I doubt it’s going to enlighten me.

At the bottom I find Milli’s final text…somehow unread.

“What the fuck?”

The limo driver glances back at me. I ignore him and reread the text.

The date says it must have been held up by some glitch. It was sent the day I expected her home.

Milli:Going away for the weekend with a hot Dom or two. An island retreat. Be back with the gossip soon.

The emojis plastered all over the text are so Milli. It looks like a color explosion, and I smile. All this does is cement my determination in place. Onward to Seth’s.

Seth:That USB sent only a burst of data then stopped. I had it prioritize files with anything like death linked to kink or BDSM terms. One image came through. A screenshot withKiller Crew Clubas the descriptor. This. I can’t geolocate it.

The image is two cropped images, one above the other. The top part is a house roof with palm fronds above the roofline, while the lower image is a room—a darkened room with an actual stone table or platform in the middle. There are manacles at the four corners and a dark stain in the center. The heads of three people show at the bottom edge. All are wearing hoods. They might be props and not men, but I think I know.

This room comes from my nightmare.

Fuck.The chill spreading makes goosebumps prickle down my arms and across my shoulders. My nipples stand up. I shiver.Winner.

Killer Crew Club. This thing is fucking real, but I have a plan. I have a cunning plan.Haha.

I look again.It might be a movie scene?

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