Page 91 of Their Cruel Love
“You—” I begin quietly, but I’m speaking through my teeth.
“She was a pretty one.” His mouth purses as if he’s regretting killing her. “Now, this deal.”
He knows. He knows I know her and is teasing me. I push out an exhalation, and something in my glare finally connects and he backs off and throws out a hand, and shouts, “Wait! Wait!” But he’s laughing, too, unable to contain his amusement. “Wait. I can expla?—”
My anger peaks, burns through, and fire is probably sparking off me as I charge forward and leap at him. My head is bursting. My jaw is tight, teeth clenched so hard they might splinter, and I’m roaring as my flying kick smacks into his chest.
To my shock he goes backward into the window, smashing bottles. He teeters, tilts, windmills his arms, and falls out. The splash is almost immediate.
I run forward and thrust my head out the window, scanning the water. The asshole is below, centered in the wash of light. He’s laughing and treading water.
“You idiot! I’m going to enjoy watching your death, you little cunt!”
“Get us out or I’ll tell all your lovely compatriots you were betraying them!” I’m caving, but with that kick all my anger has spilled and fled. I’m empty of courage. I can always track him down and do something, later. I’m making a deal with a guy swimming in the sea, and it’s ludicrous.
“Fuck no! You are a liar, Miss Phoebe. You’re also dead and fucked and?—”
A dark mass swims past from right to left and sweeps him away with it. Gone.
Gone in a fraction of a second, only his look of disbelief remains, etched into my retinas, and a churn of the water that vanishes under a wave. Did I imagine the opening and snap of large toothy jaws?
Gone. No blood. No debris. No screams. I think it was a crocodile. What else could it be?
I stagger backward, away from the window.
“Well. That was new.”
Shaking, I collapse into a squat on the floor, and find that his phone has landed there, screen up, and it’s playing the video of Milli being tortured.
I pick it up, intending to hurl it out the window, then stop myself.
Hand trembling, I clutch the phone until my hand hurts. I’m swearing softly, looking out at the night, hearing the crash of the waves, and trying to make sense of what has happened.
Milli is really dead.
I can use this phone if I keep it open.
Milli died here, hurt by these evil people, because they thought it a fun thing to do on their weekend.
I climb to my feet, head hanging down, my hair before my eyes like a shield. I have to face this world, even if my stomach is churning with nails and ice. I bite my lip, tears dribbling.I’m sorry, Milli.I keep imagining her dying, her lonely death, and I gave her the way in. Me.
I came here for the truth. I found it. Now what? Do I just give up and die? If I do, so will Razor and Marcus? Milli would not want that. She would’ve fought to the end.
“Fuck! Fuckitty fuck fuck!” I scream the words but hoarsely, as one does when enemies are everywhere.
The phone is fully charged. I turn off all the open apps, tuck it into my jacket pocket, and I keep tapping as I depart, closing the door behind me and walking quickly down the pier.
Aimee has waited, and she rises from a crouch, materializing from the night.
I stop there, panting, summoning the right things to say, if I can.
“He’s dead. I think a croc took him.”
“Oh. Oh fuck.” She glances back down the pier. “How?”
“I kicked him through a window. It’s a thing I seem to do.” Truth. “He showed me a video of my friend dying, and he laughed. That’s punishable by death.” I smile, perfunctorily. “Now tell me who you are. Or I might get murderous again. Are you on my side?” Whatever words she says, I need a spoonful of salt with them.
“He was my best hope at getting you and me off the island.” She shrugs. “I was sent by your mother?—”