Page 83 of Their Cruel Love

We are done. They watch us, our every move, but do nothing.

I imagine myself smashing their faces to a pulp. It is clear every single person here, on the bidding side of the room, is in on the secrets, whatever they might be.

Her sobs and shaking as Razor and I surround her will never be forgotten.

Their eyes follow us as we leave with Razor carrying her.

I will kill them all. Every last one.And I’ve no idea how but it’s definitely on my Christmas wish list.

32

Marcus

“Sorry,” I hear her whisper to Razor, and he shushes her, but she ends up wriggling enough that he sets her on her feet. “I am okay now.”

Wiping tears from her cheeks, she stands wobbling and frowning, shaking her head, even though both of us have once more surrounded her.

I take her hand, just holding it while I brush more stray tears from her face. I hug her to my chest, my arms wrapped about her. “You don’t look okay. We don’t need you to make yourself be strong or anything.” I’m awkward, but this isn’t what I’m used to doing.

When Phoebe sighs and hugs me back, then gathers in Razor, it feels good, too good—considering what we justrescued her from.

“We’ll go back to our room, and you can talk or not, and shower. We all need a shower and a change.”

She needs clothes full stop.

“I wish we had a plan. I’ve trapped us here, haven’t I?” She screws up her mouth at one side, rueful. “My idea to do this. My fault.”

“Uh, no.” Razor smacks her ass lightly, jarring her into me. “We all chose to do this, for our own reasons. Marcus because he’s a dick. You because you lost a friend. Don’t insult yourself, Phoebe.”

“I’ll try not to but if we all die here.Fuck. Just…” She exhales, loudly. “Fuck.”

He looks ready to smack her butt even harder, but somehow, we end up returning to our room.

After getting cleaned up, having a few slugs of scotch, and eating while the three of us supposedly discuss plans, she falls asleep. Now I have to contend with Razor once he emerges from the bathroom. The man has been holding in what he’s found out. That I am the bearer of a phone.

“Come,” he intones, beckoning me to the patio so we can speak without waking her.

With the sliding door closed, I lean my arms on the glass-and-metal railing that stops us falling onto the roof, below.

“Marcus, are you still voting for not telling her we have possibly been in contact with Emma? She needs some hope.”

“We don’t know we did it. Don’t know they received the message or our location. It’s not a vote. When we are sure, when it won’t propel her into maybe doing something impulsive, we can tell her.”

“Uh-huh. When.” He stands with his hip against the railing, assessing me—as if I have the answers. “I don’t think she is that bad. If we say to act normal, she will.”

“Jumped down that cliff without a rope. Drinks like a fish when no one stops her. Signed up with you for random kink…spent a few mill on joining a board she isn’t qualified to join.”

“You just did similar.”

“That was done while under enemy fire.” I stick the corner of my thumb in my mouth and chew off a ragged piece of the nail. “Shit though. I hope I can recover it.”

“If we get out alive and with evidence, I’m sure you will be reimbursed. If not?—”

“We may be dead?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, with that sort of outlook, you’ll be interested in what I want to do tonight, while they’re all at the event.”

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