Page 10 of The Trap

“Sally?” Brett repeats, this time as a question.

Swallowing a lump in my throat, I turn my attention back to him. “Yeah, babe?” the singsong tone of my voice nauseates me.

“I was talking to you,” he quips. His voice is low, although not quite the raspy baritone of his brother, but the way he’s speakingto me now, ripe with reprimand, is reminiscent of Colson’s voice, and a part of me likes it.

“Sorry, daddy,” I blurt, shocking not only myself, but Brett as well.

Ew. Why did I call him that?Inevercall him that.

Hating myself more than I usually do, I force myself to play along. He pulls me in closer to him, pressing his lips at my cleavage. “Fuck, you never call me that,” he groans between kisses.

I know. Don’t remind me.

“You want daddy to feed you dessert, dirty girl?”

Gag. Jesus fucking Christ, what a damn mess.

“Mhm,” I lie, begrudgingly leaning into the hold his mouth has on my tits.

Temptation riddles my veins, making me want to reach for the sedatives I brought with me special for tonight. I need him relaxed and vulnerable with his balls drained so when I jab it into his femoral artery the sedative travels through his body faster. Doing it right now is way too risky. Not to mention that Numbnuts Number Two could reappear at any minute, and something tells me he would use me knocking his brother out—despite their mutual hatred for one another—as ammo to do what he does best: toy with me.

Usually when I come over at night, Colson isn’t home. I assume he’s off fucking who knows what or picking up Brett’s slack at Cromwell Corp. The “business” is all a front. Brett maintains the legit side well, but I’m sure all the unsavory aspects go through Colson. It makes me wonder why Carmine is so focused on just taking Brett down and not the two of them, but I don't question it. As long as I get to snoop around and kill, I’m satisfied.

“Fuck,” Brett murmurs, his mouth vibrating my cleavage. “What did I do to deserve you?”

Be the son of a corrupt motherfucker who makes the career criminals I work for look like saints, that’s what.

Before I have the opportunity to say something I’d likely regret, he removes himself from my chest and captures my hand in his as he leads the way out of the dining room.

We walk down the long hall in silence, moving toward the grand staircase that leads into the foyer and up to the bedrooms. “Stay right here, babe.”

Fighting the urge to roll my eyes, I respond with a nod.

“I just need to grab something,” he says with a wink, already turning around to head back towards the kitchen.

Brett is a creature of habit. Every night that I’m here, we have dinner together or hang out for a bit, all while he throws back copious amounts of bourbon or whiskey or any liquor really. Which always leads to him wanting to take me upstairs so he can lick whipped cream off my tits before I suck him off or we fuck. I love a little food playoncein a while, but Brett makes eventhatdull. Unfortunately for him, this routine, predictable as it may be, allows me to slip him a little nighttime medicine. That way he can drift off, and I can get to work and hopefully find where the flash drive is hidden.

Basking in Brett’s absence, I discreetly thread my fingers over the smooth fabric of my dress, feeling for the knife and syringe I keep in my garter. My fingers curl around the concealed edges of both weapons, double checking that they’re secured in place and didn’t shift during my little encounter with Colson back in the dining room. Or when Brett slid his hand between my legs thinking my wetness was because of him.

My hand drops, settling my dress back in place when the phone in my bra vibrates against my chest.Making sure Brett’s still out of view, I retrieve it.

Carmine: Library.

Me: Wow, Carmie. You didn’t strike me as much of a reader =P

Carmine: Cut the shit, Sally.

Carmine: It’s in the library

Me: You sure?

A grin plasters itself on my face seeing the image Carmine sends in response. There in front of my eyes is Alistair Cromwell’s lifeless body on a slab of concrete, blood coating his face like a fucking mural, with Carmine in view snapping a selfie.

Carmine: I’d say so. Took some convincing but I got it out of him.

Me: Cool, where about in the library?

Carmine: I did my job. Now you do yours.

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