Page 15 of The Trap

With Colson feeding my vision, vile and delicious thoughts consume my mind along with the desperate lust I have for him. The strumming of my own fingers becomes a pleasurable tease, driving me insane. I need more. I need him, filling my mouth, my pussy, any fucking hole or all of them. This feral desire I have for him drives a wanton rush to my digits as I quicken the pace I am fucking myself, while my mouth is occupied by his dumbass brother. But all I care about is coming with Colson watching me.

I’m so close.

But my bubble bursts when that grin remerges on Colson’s face. This time, it’s not a lustful grin, it's a ‘joke’s on you grin’. I nearly jump out of my skin when Brett groans above me, his hand tangling in my hair.

“Fuck, I’m almost there,” he mewls, forcing himself to the hilt of my mouth, and that’s all it takes for Colson to leave.

Disappointment flutters in my chest, as I swallow Brett’s salty release, all while killing the peak of my own. I’m so preoccupied with Colson’s lack of presence that I almost don’t notice the way the stiff blonde wig has shifted from Brett palming the top of my head. Removing my hand from between my legs, I recenter my wig while Brett catches his breath.

Working through the throbbing pressure at my pussy, I direct all my frustration to what needs to be done now that I can focus again. Excitedly, I reach for the syringe tucked in my garter. It’s not even out of the lace for more than a few seconds before I jam it in Brett’s femoral artery. He barely has any time to react before he crashes to the ground, his erect cock bobbing about as he falls.

This likely isn’t the way he wanted to ride the lingering waves of his orgasm, but he should consider himself fortunate because I could’ve easily slit his throat instead. But blood’s a bitch to clean up and Carmine insisted we keep him alive for the time being.

What a letdown.

EIGHT

Adrenaline courses through my veins, my pulse a drumming thud as I walk down the long hallway, trying to maintain a quiet yet fast pace. Not that I think Brett will be waking up anytime soon. I made sure to inject him with enough sedative to down a Clydesdale. A small part of me almost feels bad. The poor guy didn’t see it coming, but the look of utter confusion on his chiseled face when the needle pricked his skin was priceless.

Tip toeing my way to the double doors of the library, I pause, peering over my shoulder, making sure no one is watching me. I’ve waited too long for this moment, and I swear if Colson does anything to jeopardize this, I will have no issue slicing his pretty inked throat. For his sake, he better stay the fuck away from me.

With the coast clear, I lower one of the handles on the door. A pit opens up in my stomach, gnawing at my insides. The squealing of the hinges was louder than I expected. It’s too risky to open the door any further, so I angle myself enough that I can slide in and once inside, I leave the door ajar to avoid making more noise.

The relief I feel is fleeting because once inside the grand library, the hundreds of books that line the tall shelves isoverwhelming. A frustrated sigh breaks the seal of my lips because itfeels like I’m searching for a needle in a haystack. From where I stand, I scan the shelves one by one with the hopes that something stands out, clueing me in to what I need. All I’m met with is alphabetized book bindings, all meticulously placed one after the other.

Inching closer to the shelves, I work my way from left to right, scanning every inch of every shelf hoping that something, anything, stands out. Minutes bleed into one another, making every second feel like hours as I continue my search with no sign of what I’m looking for. Defeat and dread begin to fester deep within my gut as I scan the room once more but it’s useless. I’m halfway to the door when a flash of bold crimson fills my periphery.

Turning around, my gaze is met with a book lying on its side, just out of reach, hiding in plain sight. I don’t know how the hell I missed it before, but I’m glad I see it now. Walking towards it, I notice it’s significantly smaller than the rest. My fingers graze the rough edges, expecting the pages to scratch against my skin, but as my palm curls around it, I realize it’s no book at all. It’s a box.

Thishasto be it.

A rustling sound echoes within the confines of the box as I carefully glide it off the shelf, exciting me with the very real possibility that the flash drive is in fact inside.

Curling my fingers on the small bronze latch centered on the side, I open the box. My heart skips before it sinks when I see not one but two flash drives, both labeledDemonio, along with a necklace. I debate taking the jewelry as well, but Carmine never mentioned anything about it, so I leave it.

Taking just the flash drives, I stuff them in my bra before replacing the box back onto the shelf. I move to the doorwaywith caution and crane my neck forward to make sure no one is around to see me slithering back out into the hallway.

Cluttered walls lined with paintings of influential Cromwells of the past and present—each as corrupt and evil as the last–fill my periphery the entire trek to the foyer.

My heels barely graze the marble floor in front of the tall glass entry doors when a thud echoes in the distance. My pulse roars in my ears, drowning them in the swarming heat of adrenaline. But I ignore it, extending my hand, readying myself to turn the knob, when the acrid scent of weed and cologne attacks my nostrils.

Of course.

“Well, if it isn’t my brother’s little pet,” Colson sneers from behind me. He meant it as an insult but the venom in his tone only heightens his jealousy. He walks past me and to the double doors, blocking them with his tall frame. He presses his back against the glass, creating an annoying barricade. “What’s the hurry, Sally?”

“No hurry, just leaving,” I quip, trying to look past him, but it feels impossible. He's blocking the doorway, forcing my attention to his now shirtless body. My gaze lingers for longer than it should, taking in the wide expanse of his chest that has a large black and gray tattoo of St. Michael nestled between his defined pecs. Intrigue throbs at my center, admiring the way every stroke of painted art compliments his physique. This is ridiculous. How many men have I seen–and fucked–that have a chest piece? Why is it that I’ve suddenly lost the ability to blink or look away? Painfully self-aware of the way I’m gawking at him, and the smirk plastered on his face because of it, I try to signal my brain to have my eyes look away. But of course, my mouth takes the lead, moving faster than my brain is able to catch up with to shut it down. Words spew out of my mouth, my ears processing this all in sheer horror.

“Nice ink,” I word vomit, causing actual bile to rise, threatening my mouth. I can’t believe I just said that. Nice ink? What’s next? A ‘bro’ and a fist bump? I swallow the acid–and my pride–and shake my head in self-reprimand.

Get fucking with it Raiden, you are too close, literally steps away from checking this job off your agenda. There’s no time for this.

Peeling my gaze from his exposed inkwork, my vision becomes a victim to his low-slung gray sweatpants. This just keeps getting better…and worse. Shit, I can’t look away from the literal sea of raised, full veins that settle under the waistband of his sweatpants.

Fuck, I was right when I jokingly told Carmine that I bet he has a veiny dick to match the ropes on his forearms and hands. God fucking damn it. Now I really feel like I’m missing out.

His throat clears, stealing my attention to his eyes, which are no less captivating than his strong, inked, physique or those damn sea of veins that I want to get on my knees and lick one by one. But at least they don’t make my pussy throb –that much– or distract me, allowing me to engage with this forced conversation.

“So that’s what you were staring at huh?” he smirks. “Thanks, my guy Declan, who just got out of the clink is back at Oogie’s Ink,” he adds, as if I give a flying fuck where he gets artistically jabbed at. Except I do care now, we go to the same tattoo shop, which has the potential to be a problem seeing that it’s in Sleepy Hollow…where I’m currently living…and across the street from Satan’s Stiletto…where Carmine insists that I work in between assignments since he owns the place. Oh well, that’s something to worry about another time, right now I need to keep it moving.

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