Page 5 of Trick's Trap

They were wearing black and grey, just like the pair following her earlier.

Her heart thrummed loudly in her ears. “What the hell are you doing here? How did you get in here?”

Cain peeled himself off the doorframe, making a production of pivoting to examine her apartment and furnishings with disdain. His brother Dante crossed his arms and stayed where he was. He always let Cain do the talking.

Cain wrinkled his nose as if he smelled something bad. “We came to take you home.”

“I am home.” Out of the corner of her eye, Tahlia began looking around for a weapon.

“C’mon, Tahlia,” Dante said. “This place is a shithole.”

Her temper flared. “It is not.”

Her furniture was utilitarian and no frills, but she hadn’t picked it off the street.I got it at Ikea!That may have been bargain basement to her cousins, but it was perfectly respectable in the real world.

“It is compared to what’s waiting for you,” Cain said. “Come, your father wants you home. Pack your things.”

She shook her head. “I don’t believe you.”

If her father truly wanted her home, then he would have called. He knew she wouldn’t disobey him. He also knew the last way to gain her cooperation would be to send these two to fetch her.

Cain tsked, tilting his head to sneer her. “Poor little cousin. Still clueless after all this time.”

Striking with a lightning-fast move, he reached out to grab her again, but Tahlia was ready. She drew out her handheld Taser from her purse, fingers on the button trigger. It caught in the smooth fabric of his shirt, but the voltage went through the folds easily.

Contorting and jerking wildly, Cain fell to the floor.

Dante shouted, an incoherent roar, leaping over his brother. He rammed into her like a football player making a tackle, but she bounced off him, falling backward onto the couch.

Tahlia gasped, the wind knocked out of her as Dante’s fell on the floor after catching his foot on the throw rug.

Heart racing, she raised the stun gun for a second discharge, but he yanked it from her grasp.

“You’ve always been such a little bitch.” Dante sneered, finally speaking. “I told Dad we should have done this a long time ago.”

With a swipe of his massive paw, he slapped her across the face. Then he hit her again, his fist closed this time.

The right side of her face exploded with pain. She fell sideways with a cry, holding her hand to her cheek and eye. It felt as if her eyeball was going to fall out of her skull—the skin around it was starting to swell shut.

Blindly, Tahlia stretched her hand out, reaching under the couch cushions.

The kitchen knife she’d hidden in her sofa was one of many stashed all around the apartment. The man at the thrift store believed she was opening her own restaurant. She let him think that. It had been easier.

Dante didn’t see it coming. When he yanked her shoulder, she clutched the knife against her chest.

Tahlia stopped thinking. All she could hear was her own heartbeat as she lunged, driving the thin blade into Dante’s leg. Her hand lost its grip, her own momentum driving it over the handle.

There was a burning sting as the knife slashed her hand open.

Swearing viciously, Dante batted her away. The knife pulled out of the wound as she was driven back. Blood flew all over the floor and her clothes.

Dante swore. “You know, I almost felt bad about what was going to happen to you, damn bitch.” He spat on her as he reached into his pocket.

He held up a syringe filled with a yellow-tinted liquid.

“No!” She scrambled away, half-crawling, half-dragging herself to the door. Her fingers were on the doorknob when he caught her, pulling her by the hair with a vicious jerk.

Tahlia shrieked, twisting and squirming to break free. The needle bit into her neck, flooding her with a cold darkness that seeped into her veins, sapping her strength.

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