Page 47 of Their Cruel Love

I hear a string of swearing and am sure she’s trying to pee as fast as possible. I grin as he marches in, and she shrieks.

The rapport between them is obvious. The years of hatred are melting away quickly in this hothouse of sex and kink. If both of them aren’t hoping for something deeper and longer-lived than a few days of fun, I will be shocked. A pity I cannot say the same for myself. I wish I could.

19

Marcus

I run a comb through my towel-dried hair, adjust my shirt, then pick up the binoculars I packed because one never knows when one will need them. Especially on a mystery island. The phone I smuggled in is already deep in my pocket. “I’m going out for some fresh air. I think I’ll look at those ruins.”

Phoebe is slipping the long black dress over the crotchless and equally black bodysuit. That lingerie has holes in all the wrong, or right places. Razor bought it for her. The slinky dress won’t be on her forever, tonight, and I cannot wait to see her reaction, but now… I need a little space.

“Don’t be too long.” Razor taps his vintage Rolex. That watch is worth sixty thousand pounds—I sold it to hima year ago.

“I won’t.”

Phoebe turns. She’s picked up some bright red lipstick. “I’d come with you,” she begins, “But this dress would suck walking through the trees.”

I nod and leave. The door sighs behind me and clicks shut. I need to get my ducks in a row as they say, as well as my kinky ex-girlfriends.

Phoebe has volunteered me into investigating a possibly murderous cabal as well as hooked me into fucking her brains out. The recent bed scene springs back into my mind in vibrant color and sound, along with the scent of her pussy.

I adjust my crotch and keep going up the central hallway. The small timber door at the end opens onto a path that meanders into the jungle behind the complex. From the sounds of splashing beyond a translucent green wall with wavelike impressions, there is a swimming pool here, to the left of the path. I run my fingers over the cool glass as I walk by. I’ll explore it another day. Throwing Phoebe in would be fun.

Jungle and ruins first.

The track is surfaced with gravel and stone and winds up the hill, between palms and towering pines. I elected not to wear the suit jacket to this dinner, and even though it’s close to five PM here, the outdoor heat and humidity are stifling. I strip off the shirt, too, leave it draped over a small sign pointing upward. My shower might have to be repeated.

According to a leaflet left on our coffee table, this name-redacted island has been owned by almost every colonizing empire. The French, Dutch, British, even the Germans. The ruins above must hark back to them? And to have had any population at all, there must be a fresh water source.

When I emerge into the clearing crowning the top of the hill, the view is spectacular. Apart from the trees that get in the way, I can see for three hundred and sixty degrees. Everydirection shows only the sea with no sign of other land. To what must be the west, wispy pink and orange clouds float against the sky and the lowering sun.

To my right, a cell tower rises another ten meters. A vine winds its way up one of the metal legs, sprouting bright purple blossoms.

This place is pure tropics. A sign down at the beach underlines that.

DO NOT SWIM HERE. BEWARE OF CROCODILES and JELLYFISH.

We are not in Finland; that much I do know.

I have about twenty minutes before the dinner starts, but I doubt they’ll penalize me if I’m late.

I switch on the phone and wait for it to start up.

No signal. Nothing in any direction. I don’t even have the option of an emergency call. Of course, that might improve. I switch off the phone. If I find a charger, I can leave it on. Since they’ve confiscated our phones, why isn’t the tower turned on for the use of whoever owns this island?

I step over foundation stones that are blackened, cracked, and mildewed. The circular arrangement makes this likely to be the remains of a stone tower. Though a padlocked, steel trapdoor in the center makes me curious as to what it leads to, the roar of waves draws me to the other side. There, someone has erected a block and tackle—perhaps to do restoration work.

I climb the stone blocks below the block and tackle. Then I step down onto a broad, grassed area beyond, where a railing guards a precipice. Past the railing is a rocky outcrop then an abrupt drop-off. The wind rises off the ocean and ruffles my hair, gusts in my ears, deafening me.

Only I, the sky, and this land share this space. And thedisorderly sea where it smashes into a small cove far below, sending froth and water sluicing upward. It curls into a slim gap where sand shows briefly before it’s submerged by onrushing water which is soon sucked outward. The suction and submerging comes in cycles, though the tide barely covers the last few feet of the sand.

The wind flutters again and I squint outward, across the sea’s darkening surface. I should return before the sun sets. If I wait too long, they’ll send out a search party. I’m not sure of the official sunset time.

In case I missed something, I use the binoculars to scan the horizon. Still nothing. I haven’t come up here to discover new lands. Idly, I watch some of the waves crash ashore.

Phoebe was always fun to mess around with at high school. We had ideas back then, a future together, maybe, or so I was hoping. Wanting into her pants was only part of my designs. I wanted her, full stop. Then her brother died at her hand, or rather at her foot, apparently. Then everything went to shit.

Here I am, obeying her stepmother on the chance she follows through with her reward and brings back my family’s fortunes. I’m never going to feel right doing this. I’ve already relentlessly pawed through all of my decisions, even brought it up with Razor. Nothing will make this feel right. Not that part of it. Helping Phoebe, yes, that is good. I hope it doesn’t come down to guarding her from anything bad here, but if she is correct, it might.

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