Page 33 of Their Cruel Love

Then I see Seth’s words below the image.

I couldn’t find this bottom image on a deep internet search either. It doesn’t seem to be from a film set or similar.

Where is it then? Somewhere tropical, for starters. Themain thing about this struck me immediately. This is hard data. I can use this at the meeting I’m going to.

Dress for success. I figure my stark-black tailored suit with its ostentatious badges and the heavy silver rings on my fingers will advertise that I am not to be fucked with. The pants are close-fitting. The black boots with silver spikes on the heels give me some extra height and scariness. I dyed my hair bright purple at the ends in a dedication to the woman in my nightmare. It is a touch metalhead, but the CNC Fraternity doesn’t strike me as being staid.

When I’m ushered in through the double bank of doors, I see I am right. Most of the people here are dressed to look pretty, to alarm, or to look like they own the world. There are only a few business suits on the men, but also two haute couture suits on the women, with outlandish shapes to their collars and sleeves. I chose wisely.

A U-shaped table stretches before me with the ends facing the doors where I stand. I advance but stop before I enter the wings of the table.

I count fifteen people with about a quarter of them women. All of them wear masks. Masks are in fashion, today, or they prefer to conceal their faces from me. It’s a little creepy. I keep my shoulders back, my gaze steely—or as steely as I can manage.

“Welcome to the third board meeting of the CNC Fraternity, this calendar year.” The man sits directly opposite at the far end of theU—the head of the table, I guess. He bangs a steel gavel, twice, then sets it down. His voice and greying hair betray him as elderly. His mask is a whitefaçade. “To what do we owe your visit, Miss…Bartholemew?”

“Do I not merit introductions?” Best to be a bit provocative and act domineering. They are playing coy by concealing themselves.

How many know me? It is a question I already thought through, and I may never know the true answer.

“No,” he smoothly adds. “This is your first attendance. It might be your last. We prefer some anonymity. State your business.”

“I fear you misunderstand me.” I tilt my head and smile. “I’ve re-activated my father’s family membership. I am one of you. I am now a board member. I had hoped?—”

“That we will discuss soon. State your reason for being here, please. Miss Bartholemew.”

Panic rises, like a breath of wind stirring dust in a vast desert. What have I missed? I can feel the latent threat in his words.

Imagination.I shake it off, steady myself. “I am here to recommend, no, to urge that we instigate an investigation into the disappearance of Milli Derringer, who came to one of your…”

I trail off as a woman to his left holds up her hand, palm outward then loudly clears her throat. Her headdress is a magnificent nest of red snakes; her mask is black. From the shoulders of her red dress, a fan of black spear-shapes rises and frames her head.

“You cannot reactivate your family’s membership.” Her voice is being artificially altered and sounds robotic. With the millions she must have at her fingertips, she could sound like a siren. Who is this? I nibble my lip then stop that blatant betrayal of my nervousness.

I swallow, slowly. “Why? I was told of no such obstacle.”

“Because”—a pert smile graces her mouth then vanishes—“you are a submissive. Only dominants or switches are allowed to sit on this board.”

My mouth is open. I close it, frowning.

“It’s simple.” She sits back in her chair, and I spot a name tag on the table before her.Queen O. Some of the others have those tags. Invented names, from what I can tell. “You were at the event in Spain. We know what you are. We even have some awareness of what fetishes and kinks turn you on. If we need more information, we will ask your partners.”

Fuck.If she is correct, then why did they admit me to this meeting?

“You were admitted because we are curious. Your family name is well known, as is your attendance at the Spanish event,” says Mister Gray Hair.

I need names. Who are they? They identified me? Then they know what I did for Marcus and Razor, in public. Worse, they know what was donetome, or some of it.

A blush sears my face.

“Yes. We knew who you were,” drawls a younger man nearer me, second from end of the left wing of the table. Slumping slightly in his chair, he drops one booted foot on the table. No one blinks. His bright blond hair dips as he smiles. “I appreciated the display.”

“Fuck you,” I sneer, then instantly regret it. He only grins more broadly. “You want to know why I am here? Milli went missing after attending a CNC event, about one month ago. The police refuse to do anything, but you should be afraid. If she remains missing, if she turns up dead at the hands of a member, your organization will be investigated.”

The silence that descends pleases me. Why give a fuckabout what they saw me do? I don’t. It is done. They’ve all done ruder, kinkier things, of that I am sure. And they will not like it if the police stick their noses into their affairs.

“What proof do you have?” asks Blondie. He isn’t masked, but his supercilious, pseudo-dominant air is grating on me. He rocks his table-planted boot back and forth.

“Proof? The invitation to come to the training event in text. The contact, Sir Gregory. All the dates. Her last text.” I shrug. They took away my phone before bringing me here, insisted it was standard procedure for these meetings. “If you’d return my phone, I received a message today from my IT expert that sheds more light on this.” The IT title sounded good. Seth won’t mind. “If I show?—”

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