Page 10 of Trapped

Jasper is one of the best tech spies money can buy. He spent years training with the military for cyber security. His skills are ones we embraced the day he joined the club. He is the Arizona chapter’s club treasurer, which is why he followed me, thefinancer, around. Ironically, my little demon and I hold similar positions in the business world. We both know how to clean money for a large corporation and cover our asses in the process.

I need this real estate business to take off in Houston. I can’t lose focus of what the next steps are in my plan. Los Peregrinos will need to expand into Houston if I am to take over the family business in Tamaulipas. I spent the last seven years building and gaining the trust of the motorcycle gang so we could partner together. I need them if I am going to resurrect my family name.

My father thought with his dick, and that was where he failed. Everyone had a vice. For some it’s drugs, or gambling, but his had always been women. Women with dollar signs in their eyes who promised him a lifetime of good head just to bask in his wealth. His fourth wife, Claudia, who was with him at the time of his death, had taken it upon herself to try claiming his entire estate. When that plan failed—when she realized he had left her nothing—she opted to take something more valuable from me.

My cell vibrates on the desk, and I grab it to answer the unknown caller.

“WHAT!” I bark.

“¡¿Como que ‘GUAT’ cabron?!”Josefina Macias is cussing at me on the other end. My mother is as short-tempered as they come.

“Ma, sorry. I thought you were a scammer.” I sigh and listen to her yell some more. She’s only halfway through my birth story and how ungrateful I am. We rarely check in unless it is necessary. She is a threat to Claudia, and I can’t risk her safety, so she is hiding out in Guadalajara with her sister.

“Okay. I know. I’m sorry. How are you doing?” I say when she finally stops her rant.

“I’m okay. Where are you?”

“I’m in Houston.” A silent pause comes over the line. She knows what is here. She knowswhois here.

Let her go, Silas.

Let her be free.

Let her live her life.

The same words she said to me all those years ago. When I found out they killed my father, the first thing I wanted to do was retaliate against the entire Consuelo family. I didn’t have the information then that I have now. I didn’t know the plans Ivan had made or his accomplices. I didn’t know he was willing to sell out his entire family, and his daughter, just to take my father out.

“Whatever you’re planning, Silas, you better hope it doesn’t backfire.”

She hangs up before I can reply. I don’t believe in karma or shit backfiring. I only believe in life and death. They are the only two constants. The only two things any of us can trust to be true. I pull out the escapulario I wear around my neck. Mi Santisima Muerte. Holy Death. Every morning, I ask her to keep me alive long enough to do what I need to do. Once my mission is complete, death can come for me.

I pull up my email and click on the live footage of Thalia’s room. Her hair is curled, and she’s in a black robe, setting out different outfits on her bed. Once she’s narrowed it down to two, she undoes her robe. Those same perky tits I saw last night stare up at me.

She grabs a bottle of lotion and begins massaging it into her skin. She makes slow circular motions up her leg before her hand stops at her center. She slowly trails her fingers over her bare pussy. Her hands move over her stomach and to her breasts. She squeezes more lotion and rubs them along her hardened peaks. The motion stimulates something in her. She bends to the bottom drawer on her nightstand and pulls out a purple vibrator.

Valgame, Dios.

My dick hardens at the sight of her pleasuring herself. I pull out my cock and stroke it as I watch her on my computer screen. The camera is angled high above her bed, giving me full access to her private show. Her twisted face and pants orchestrate my movements. She slides the vibrator in and out. The vibrating sound makes a melody with the moans she tries to muffle.

She grabs her tits aggressively and lifts her hips off the bed. She thrusts into the toy, desperate to find release. I continue to stroke my cock. Up and down. I stroke it hard, imagining what her pussy would feel like. Her release comes, and her eyes roll into the back of her head. I meet her there and watch as cum erupts out of me. My release is as powerful as hers.

She stays there for a moment, regaining her composure. She moves to the bathroom to clean up, and when she returns, she has on another tighter black dress, showing off all her curves. She moves to the vanity, where the lilies I left are in a black vase. Instead of black lipstick, she opts for a bright red. Red is dangerous. It is lust, and it is passion. I clean the cum off me, zip up my pants, and grab my jacket off the back of the chair. I jump onto my bike and do one-fifty down the highway. I am a Winchester brother hunting a demon, and she has no idea the lengths I’ll go to trap her.

I never found my necklace or my phone. I had Ariella grab me a new one, and I messaged César Velarde that same day. There was no such thing as too soon, even with my lingering PTSD from the date with Hewey. I ran through a list of reasons I shouldn’t get involved with a musician, but then rejected them all immediately. If I waited for “my type” to show up, I would die alone. My type doesn’t exist.Not anymore.

Besides, this weekend would be the last one I had free until the season’s events were over. All my friends are either pregnant or too busy. By “all my friends,” I mean the only two I have—Alma and Mireya. Mireya is pregnant, and Alma is working more hours since we are understaffed in housekeeping.

César happens to be free this weekend, as well, before going on tour, so it seems like divine timing. You know what else is divine? Him picking me up in a flannel shirt, cowboy boots, and Wranglers. His pants are tight in all the right places. God bless Texas. Maybe adding more musicians to my roster isn’t a bad idea.

He offers me flowers, and I hop into the truck beside him. My eyes widen with excitement when I see where he’s taking me. I roll down the window to take in the rich smell of culture. I feel alive here in the heart of Houston. The Montrose neighborhood is adored by artists and visionaries. There is a freeness here. One I search for when I come here to people watch.

César is the perfect gentleman, opening doors and helping me into my seat. Conversation with him is easy. His Texas accent is mesmerizing, and his laughter is contagious. Most men are only focused on trying to impress me on a first date. Conversation always centers around business and money—how much they make, where they went to school, and their work history. It is fucking exhausting to listen to their resume verbatim.

“Where did you get that done?” César asks, pointing to the tattoo on my inner forearm. It’s of a small bird trapped inside a cage, with lilies framing the black and white design. It is one of my only really personal pieces. Everything else is just impulse or art, but this is etched not only into my skin but also into my heart.

“My homegirl, Lupita, did it. Her shop’s located around the corner.”

“Oh yeah, Bad Apple, right? I’ve seen a lot of her work around. I like it.” I’m grateful he doesn’t ask me to explain its meaning. I can never find words to explain the tattoo when people ask me about it. I always sum it up to a Maya Angelou poem,I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings, but it is so much more than that.

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