Page 2 of The Trap

The concept of soulmates, the idea of love, none of it meant anything to him…not until her. And as much as it kills him, he knows this is the only way he can save her and have the Demonio name live on, as it’s meant to. As ithasto.

It means a sacrifice must be made and that the Cromwell name and all its members must perish.

No exemptions.

No lives spared.

This is more than revenge…this is fate.

But the thing with fate, that perhaps Gregor didn’t consider that evening is that it can only be delayed for so long.

You can run from destiny, but if you hide, it’ll find you and once it does?

It’ll trap you…one way or another.

ONE

12 YEARS AGO

“You’re killing them monstruo…”

I gasp, my unconscious thoughts cut off by what I can only assume is my mother, judging by the familiar scent of floral and spice tickling my nose. My suspicions are confirmed when she says my name in a hushed whisper, pulling me from whatever dream –or nightmare– I was having. Even with nothing but the warm amber light leaking into my bedroom from the hallway, the urgency in her expression is impossible to miss.

I spring up from where I’ve been laying on my side, the bed creaking with my abrupt motion. As I stand, towering over my mother’s trembling body, she grabs my forearm. She lets out a steady exhale, centering herself before she presses her finger to her mouth, signaling for me to be quiet. Unsure of what has gotten into her I nod, obliging her with widened eyes, hoping she will fill me in on what the hell is going on.

The silence lingers between us, making seconds feel like an eternity before she lowers her hand to speak. “Escúchame,” she instructs in a hushed whisper. Before saying anything else, thehand that was just by her mouth, points in the direction of my bedroom window. “We need to go through the window, before he hears us,” she adds, moving closer to where the curtains are bulging out. She quickly casts the curtains aside revealing a backpack and a small duffel bag. Just as she’s about to reach for them, footsteps echo from down the hallway and the trepidation that was painted across my mother’s face is nothing compared to the sheer terror that has overtaken her features.

“Fuck,” she mumbles, voice trembling. Nervously, she tucks the bags behind the curtain. “He should be sleeping,” she adds, and the notes of worry in her voice make me nervous.

“Mom, what’s going on?” I whisper, but it’s not low enough. She lunges towards me, bringing her hand to my mouth.

“Please,mijo, I beg you. Be quiet.” Her words, stern, yet somehow drenched in regret, are sealed with a kiss on my cheek. “Get back in bed. I’ll be back when he falls asleep.”

“Who? Dad?” I ask, already knowing the answer as her petite frame nudges me back to bed. She doesn’t respond, she doesn’t have to. The distinct thuds of my father’s angry stride creak against the floorboards as he roars my mother’s name.

“Elena, get out here now,” dad roars from out in the hall.

Knots form in my stomach. Sadly, I’m used to this. The drunken threats, the heated exchanges in the middle of the night. I’m used to them not getting along. I’ve never seen them happy, or even so much as act like they are in love, but the angry singsong of my dad’s voice makes me want to jump out of bed and walk with her, protect her.

“Mom, wait, don’t,” I mutter loud enough that she can hear me even though her back is turned.

“Please, mijo,” she repeats.Though this time, the crackle in her plea, breaks me. “I love you. Please, get back in bed and stay there until I come back to get you.”

My mind races to my brother. “What about Brett?” I ask, urgently but still in a hushed tone, as to keep quiet but I know she hears me.

“He’s made his choice,” she says cryptically.

I have no time to respond or ask her what she means. She’s already closing the door as she slinks back in the hallway. Smelling the liquor from here, I spring out of bed, making a beeline to the door. Blood rushes in my veins, anger rising, threatening my skin with its heat as my hand grazes the doorknob. I have the cool brass turned halfway, slowly opening the door, bracing myself in case the hinges whine like they have a tendency of doing but thankfully the door opens in silence, just enough that I can see mom and dad talking heatedly, but talking.

Relief washes over me, even if I know it’s only temporary. This is how it usually goes. Things will seem okay, and then they escalate, quickly,violently.

I never understood that saying, “there’s no place like home”. This home. This fucking hell on earth isn’t an oasis, it’s a death sentence. And every day that I’m here I feel like I’m one day closer to tragedy striking in one way or another.

Gently shutting the door, I tiptoe back to bed when something hits the window. All the bedrooms are on the second story, so unless someone climbed, it almost sounds like there’s a rock being thrown. It happens two more times as I walk past my bed to the window, it’s not enough to shatter the glass, but it’s hard enough that a crack will likely form. Now standing between the parted curtains, I peer out but nothing other than the swaying trees a couple feet away catches my attention. Though somehow, I’m still suspicious. I can’t explain it, but I feel like someone is watching me.

Stubbornly, I continue scanning the yard. Nothing moves. The noise is gone. Silence. Deafening, suspicious silence is all I’m met with.

A yawn escapes my lips, signaling that I should go to sleep but as I pivot my feet, something red flashes in my periphery. I pause and whip my head around, noticing that whatever it is, is coming from outside. Inching closer to the window, I squint trying to make out the crimson object that appears to be floating amongst the branches. I continue stepping forward until my nose is pressed against the translucent barrier. My lips part fogging the glass, blocking my view. My fist clenches frantically rubbing the condensation away until the bold, red object that stole my attention is visible again. Fragments of the moon’s light reveal a figure dressed in all black with a red mask covering all but their mouth. Red devil horns adorn each side, and the brow line above each eye hole looks angry, even with the considerable distance between us.

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